\-rALy7 


< 

> — ( 

o 


00 


>^ 

fc 

- 

^ 

oc^ 

t — 1 

^ 

:?: 

< 
PQ 

05 
CO 

CO 

:3 

1  u. 
i  o 

cc 

^ 

CD 

> 

S 

1- 

1— 1- 

CO 

^ 

oi 

Ct 

^'t 
^ 

:| 

w 

?» 

^ 

> 

1 

.§ 

6=^ 

i 

D 

^i 

I.... 


irtai^ 


""^. 


* 


_l 


Cc6<y  c^  ^Cy'^ti^^^.^  ^^. 


Stubtes  of  ZTtavel 


J5^ 

E&warb  H.  jfreeman 


Utal^ 


'TOT  CONGEST*   MANU  PRAEHUPTI8  OPPIDA  SAXIS." VERG.  QEORG.    II.   15S 


G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NHW    YORK  LONDON 

5  West  23d  Street  24  Bedford  Street,  Strand 

Ubc  Iknfcfecrbocbcr  press 


COPYRIGHT,  1893 


G.P.PUTNAM'S  SONS 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall^  London 

By  G.  p.  Putnam's  Sons 


Electrotyped,  Printed,  and  Bound  by 

XCbc  TRnicfterbocfeer  jprcss,  IRcw  l^orft 
G,  P.  Putnam's  Sons 


Contents 


PAGE 

Arezzo I 

CORTONA .12 

Perugia 23 

The  V01.UMNIAN  Tomb       ...  34 

Pr^-Franciscan  Assisi      ...  46 

SPEi.1.0 58 

VEii 67 

FiDEN^ 77 

Antemn^ 86 

OSTIA 96 

The  AivBAN  Mount     .        .        .        .  108 

CoRi 123 

NORBA 131 

Segni 150 

iter  ad  brundisium 

I.     Anagni 165 

II.    Ferentino       .        .        .        .185 

III.      AI.ATRI 206 

VOL.  II.  iii 


!▼ 

Contents 

IV. 

From  Ai^atri  to  Capua 

221 

V. 

A   Church  by  the:  Camp  of 

Hannibai.     .... 

234 

VI. 

A  GiviMPSie  OF  Samnium 

251 

VII. 

Benevento       .... 

264 

VIII. 

Norman  Buii^dings  in  Apui^ia 

281 

IX. 

Bari 

295 

VNIVEBSISI 


Hre330^ 


'X'HE  city  of  Maecenas,  and  of  a  whole 
■*  crowd  of  famous  men  of  later 
times,  shows  no  outward  signs  of  being 
much  frequented  by  travellers.  There 
is  some  difficulty  there  in  getting  so 
much  as  an  Italian  newspaper,  and, 
though  excellent  photographs  have 
been  taken  of  some  of  the  chief  build- 
ings, they  must  be  sought  for  at  Flor- 
ence ;  they  are  not  to  be  bought  at 
Arezzo.  Yet  the  old  Etruscan  city  has 
many  attractions,  among  them  surely 
the  singular  cleanness  of  its  streets, 
and,  above  all,  that  clear  and  pure  air 
which  is  thought  to  have  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  nourishing  the  genius 
of  so  many  of  its  citizens  in  so  many 


2  irtalg. 

different  ways.  Perhaps,  on  the  whole, 
Arezzo  does  not  suffer  from  not  having 
yet  put  on  the  cosmopolitan  character 
of  some  of  its  neighbours.  And  if  the 
city  does  not,  either  as  Arretium  or  as 
Arezzo,  stand  forth  in  the  first  rank  of 
Italian  cities,  still  it  has  a  long  history 
under  both  forms  of  its  name.  If, 
again,  its  buildings  do  not  rank  with 
those  of  Pisa  or  lyucca,  still  there  is 
quite  enough  both  in  the  general 
aspect  of  the  city,  and  in  some  par- 
ticular objects  within  its  walls,  to 
claim  a  day  or  two's  sojourn  from  any 
one  who  is  not  eager  to  rush  from 
Florence  to  Rome  as  fast  as  the  so- 
called  express  train  can  carry  him. 

Arezzo,  as  to  its  physical  site,  holds 
a  middle  position  between  cities  which 
sit  perched  on  a  high  hill- top  like 
Fiesole,  and  cities  which,  like  Flor- 
ence, lie  flat  or  nearly  so  on  the  banks 
of  a  great  river.  It  has  its  river,  if  we 
may  give  that  name  to  the  mere  brook 


Bre330.  3 

which  presently  loses  itself  in  the 
Chiana,  as  the  Chiana  soon  loses  itself 
in  the  Arno.  The  river  too  has  a 
bridge,  but  both  river  and  bridge  have 
to  be  sought  for  ;  they  form  no  impor- 
tant points  in  the  general  aspect  of  the 
city.  The  bridge  at  Arezzo  is  not  one 
of  those  to  which  we  instinctively  go 
the  first  thing  to  take  a  general  view 
of  the  city  as  a  whole.  The  hill  is  a 
more  real  thing,  as  any  one  will  say  who 
climbs  some  of  its  steeper  streets.  Still 
it  is  one  of  those  hills  which  seem  to 
borrow  height  and  steepness  from  the 
fact  of  being  built  upon.  If  it  were 
covered  with  green  grass,  it  would 
simply  pass  as  one  of  several  small 
hills  which  break  the  flat  of  the  rich 
plain,  girded  in  on  all  sides  by  higher 
mountains,  which  rise,  in  February  at 
least,  into  vast  snowy  heights  in  the 
further  distance.  Still  Arezzo  has  dis- 
tinctly the  character  of  a  hill  city,  not 
of  a  river  city ;  the  hill  counts  for  a 


4  irtali^. 

good  deal,  while  the  river  counts  for 
nothing.  The  best  points  for  a  general 
view  from  below  will  be  found  on  the 
town  wall,  a  little  way  to  the  left  of  the 
railway  station ;  while  to  look  down 
on  Arezzo  we  must  climb  to  the  castle 
in  the  eastern  corner  of  the  city,  whose 
Medicean  fortifications  look  strong 
enough  without,  but  which,  within, 
has  gardens  and  fig  trees  level  with 
the  walls,  and  rabbits  running  about 
at  large  among  them.  The  castle 
therefore  forms  no  special  object  in 
the  general  view  ;  it  simply  passes  as 
a  more  marked  part  of  the  line  of  the 
city  walls.  These  last  remain  in  their 
whole  circuit,  except  where  they  have 
been  broken  down  to  make  the  ap- 
proach to  the  railway  ;  surely  a  new 
gate  would  have  been  a  better  way  of 
compassing  this  object.  A  town  wall 
standing  free,  as  those  of  Arezzo  stand 
in  nearly  their  whole  range,  is  always 
a  striking  object,  and  one  whose  cir- 


Bre330.  5 

cuit  it  is  pleasant  and  instructive  to 
make.  And  it  has  a  special  interest 
in  some  cities,  of  which  Arezzo  is  one, 
which  have,  so  to  speak,  a  show  side. 
One  side  lies  open  to  the  world  ;  the 
ancient  roads,  the  modern  railway, 
approach  it ;  the  city  dies  away  into 
the  country  by  gradually  descending 
suburbs.  On  the  other  side,  the  wall 
suddenly  parts  the  inhabited  town, 
sometimes  from  actual  desolation,  at 
all  events  from  open  fields  ;  the  hill 
rises  sheer  above  whatever  lies  beyond 
it.  So  it  is  with  the  north-eastern  side 
of  Arezzo,  if  we  go  behind  the  cathe- 
dral and  the  castle  ;  we  have  not  fully 
taken  in  the  lie  of  the  city  without 
taking  this  walk  to  its  rear.  Still  we 
must  not  look  to  the  walls  of  Arezzo 
for  the  special  interest  of  some  other 
walls.  They  will  not  give  us  either 
Roman  or  Etruscan  blocks,  nor  yet  the 
picturesque  outline  of  mediaeval  towers 
and  gateways.     The  walls  put  on  their 


6  -fftalu. 

present  aspect  in  Medicean  times,  and 
over  one  of  the  gates  we  see  an  inscrip- 
tion which  illustrates  one  stage  of  a 
tyrant's  progress.  The  first  avowed 
sovereign  Cosmo  appears  as  ' '  Duke 
of  Florence  and  Siena/'  He  had  in- 
herited one  enslaved  commonwealth  ; 
he  had  himself  enslaved  another ; 
meanwhile  he  was  waiting  for  the  fit- 
ting reward  of  such  exploits  in  the 
higher  rank  and  more  sounding  title 
of  a  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany. 

In  the  general  view  of  Arezzo  there 
can  be  hardly  said  to  be  any  one  domi- 
nant object.  If  the  castle  made  any 
show,  it  and  the  cathedral  church, 
standing  nearly  on  the  same  level  on 
the  highest  ground  in  the  town,  would 
stand  well  side  by  side.  As  it  is,  the 
body  of  the  duomo  is  the  prominent 
feature  in  the  view.  But  it  is  hardly 
a  dominant  feature.  It  is  the  only 
building  whose  body  shows  itself,  but 
it   rises    among   a   crowd   of  towers, 


Bre330.  7 

ecclesiastical  and  municipal,  and  one 
of  them,  the  great  campanile  of  St. 
Mary  della  Pieve,  though  the  body  of 
its  church  does  not  show  itself  far 
below,  is  a  distinct  rival  to  the  cathe- 
dral, and  utterly  dwarfs  its  small  and 
modern,  though  not  ungraceful,  octa- 
gon tower.  These  two  churches  form 
the  two  greatest  architectural  objects 
in  Arezzo.  The  municipal  element 
does  not  show  itself  so  largely  as  might 
be  looked  for.  The  town -house  is 
there,  and  the  town-tower,  and  that 
hard  by  the  duomo ;  but  they  do  not 
hold,  even  comparatively,  anything 
like  the  same  position  as  their  fellows 
in  the  great  Florentine  piazza.  Perhaps 
this  is  not  wonderful  in  a  city  which 
was  so  largely  Ghibelin,  and  whose 
most  noted  historical  character  was  a 
fighting  bishop.  Guy  Tarlati,  bishop 
and  lord  of  Arezzo,  keeps — though 
not  on  its  old  site — his  splendid  tomb 
in  the  duomo,  on  which  are  graven  the 


8  Htm* 

names  and  likenesses  of  the  castles 
which  he  won,  and  how  King  Lewis 
of  Bavaria  took  the  lyombard  crown  at 
his  hands.  But  Arezzo  has  little  or 
nothing  to  show  in  the  way  of  houses 
or  palaces  or  of  street  arcades.  Its 
most  striking  building  besides  the 
churches  is  the  front  of  that  called  the 
Fraternita  dei  Laid,  in  the  open  slop- 
ing space  which  seems  to  mark  the 
forum  of  Arretium.  This  is  a  work 
in  the  mixed  style  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  but  so  rich  and  graceful  in  its 
detail  as  to  disarm  criticism.  Within, 
it  contains  the  public  library  and 
museum.  This  last  has  much  to  show 
in  many  ways ;  most  striking  of  all, 
because  thoroughly  local,  are  the  huge 
tusks  and  other  remains  of  the  fossil 
elephants  and  other  vast  beasts  of  by- 
gone days.  The  valley  of  the  Chiana 
is  full  of  them.  Naturally  enough,  in 
the  early  days  of  science,  when  ele- 
phants' bones  were  no  longer  thought 


to  be  those  of  giants,  they  were  set 
down  as  relics  of  the  Gaetulian  beasts 
of  Hannibal. 

Something  may  be  picked  up  here 
and  there  in  the  other  churches  of 
Arezzo  ;  but  it  is  Santa  Maria  della 
Pieve  which  is  the  real  object  of  study. 
The  duofno  is  absolutely  without  out- 
line ;  it  is  a  single  body  with  nothing 
to  break  it,  and  nothing  to  finish  it  at 
either  end.  But  its  proportions  within 
come  somewhat  nearer  to  Northern 
ideas  than  is  common  in  the  Italian 
Gothic,  and  its  apse  specially  reveals 
the  German  hand  to  which  tradition 
attributes  the  building.  The  church 
of  La  Pieve  is  of  a  higher  order.  It 
has  real  shape  within  and  without. 
Its  four  arms  should  support  a  cupola, 
only  the  cupola  has  never  been  fin- 
ished ;  the  apse  is  in  the  very  best 
form  of  the  Italian  Romanesque ;  the 
west  front  is  called  a  copy  of  Pisa ; 
but  neither  its  merits  nor  its  defects 


10  fftal^. 

seem  borrowed  from  that  model.  Part 
of  it  is  sham,  which  nothing  at  Pisa  is, 
while  the  small  arcades  stand  out  free, 
as  at  IvUcca,  but  not  at  Pisa.  The 
front  is  a  wonderful  display  of  column 
capitals  of  all  kinds,  from  the  Corin- 
thian column  used  up  again  in  its 
lowest  range  to  the  fantastic  devices 
of  the  small  ranges  above  them.  The 
arch  and  the  entablature  are  both 
used  ;  so  they  are  in  the  apse  :  so  they 
are  within.  For  the  choir  has  a  real 
triforium,  and  that  triforium  shows 
this  strange  falling  back  on  the  con- 
struction of  the  Greek.  The  arches 
below  are  round  ;  those  which  should 
support  the  cupola,  as  well  as  those  of 
the  nave,  are  pointed,  the  latter  rising 
from  columns  of  prodigious  height. 
The  internal  effect  is  like  nothing  else  ; 
it  is  quite  un- Italian  ;  it  is  as  little  like 
anything  English  or  French ;  the 
arches,  but  not  the  columns,  suggest 
the  memory  of  Aquitaine.     The  south 


side  has  been  rebuilt.  Perhaps  the 
work  was  physically  needful :  but  it 
has  involved  the  destruction  of  the  sub- 
structure of  the  ancient  building  on  the 
site  of  which  the  church  stands.  The 
columns  in  the  west  front  seem  to  be 
the  only  remains  of  Arretium  as  dis- 
tinguished from  Arezzo.  The  '*Tyrr- 
hena  regum  progenies  ' '  have  here  left 
but  small  traces  behind  them. 


Cortona^ 


CROM  Arezzo  the  next  stage  will 
^  naturally  be  to  the  hill  on  whose 
height 

....  Cortona  lifts  to  heaven 
Her  diadem  of  towers. 

If  the  journey  be  made  on  a  market  or 
fair  day,  the  space  between  the  walls 
and  the  station  at  Arezzo  may  be  seen 
crowded  with  white  oxen,  suggesting 
the  thought  of  triumphs  and  triumphal 
sacrifices.  Their  race,  it  was  said, 
prayed  to  the  gods  that  Marcus  and 
Julian  might  not  win  victories  which 
would  lead  to  their  destruction. 
And  the  prayer  seems  to  have  been 
answered,  as  the  breed  specially  con- 
nected with  Clitumnus  has  clearly  not 


Cottona*  13 


died  out,  even  by  the  banks  of  Clanis. 
The  journey  is  not  a  long  one  ;  yet,  if 
we  had  time  to  see  everything,  we 
might  well  wish  to  break  it,  as  we  pass 
by  the  hill  of  Castiglione  Fiorentino, 
with  its  walls  and  towers.  That  strong 
and  stern  hill-fortress  comes  in  well 
between  Arezzo  and  Cortona.  Arezzo 
covers  a  hill,  but  it  can  hardly  be  said 
to  stand  on  a  hill-top  ;  Castiglione  dis- 
tinctly does  stand  on  a  hill-top  ;  Cor- 
tona sits  enthroned  on  a  height  which 
it  would  hardly  be  straining  language 
to  speak  of  as  a  mountain.  We  have 
now  come  to  a  site  of  the  oldest  class, 
the  stronghold  on  the  height,  like  Akro- 
I  korinthos  and  the  lyarissa  of  Argos. 
But  at  Argos  and  Corinth  the  moun- 
tain-fortress became,  at  a  later  stage, 
the  citadel  of  the  younger  city  which 
grew  up  at  the  mountain's  foot.  But 
at  Cortona,  as  at  greater  Perugia,  the 
city  still  abides  on  the  height ;  it  has 
never  come  down  into  the  plain.     So 


14  Utal^. 

it  has  remained  at  Laon  ;  so  it  has  be- 
come at  Girgenti,  where  the  vast  lower 
space  of  the  later  Akragas  is  forsaken, 
and  the  modern  town  has  shrunk  up 
within  the  lines  of  the  ancient  acropo- 
lis. From  the  ground  below  Cortona 
we  look  up  to  a  city  like  those  of  old, 
great  and  fenced  up  to  heaven  ;  the 
*^  diadem  of  towers"  is  there  still, 
though  it  is  now  made  up  of  a  group 
of  towers,  ecclesiastical,  municipal, 
and  military,  none  of  them  of  any  ac- 
count in  itself,  but  each  of  which  joins 
with  its  fellows  to  make  up  an  effec- 
tive whole.  At  Cortona  indeed,  as  at 
Argos  and  Corinth,  there  is  an  upper 
and  a  lower  city,  and  the  upper  city 
is  pretty  well  forsaken.  But  while  at 
Argos  and  Corinth  the  lower  city 
stands  in  the  plain,  and  the  acropolis 
soars  far  above  it,  at  Cortona  the  lower 
city  itself  stands  so  high  up  the  hill 
that  it  is  only  when  we  reach  it  that 
we  fully  understand  that  there  is  a 


Cortona.  15 


higher  city  still.  The  site  itself  be- 
longs so  thoroughly  to  the  oldest  days 
of  our  European  world  that  there  is  a 
certain  kind  of  satisfaction  in  finding 
that  the  main  interest  of  the  place  be- 
longs to  those  oldest  days .  We  are  well 
pleased  that  everything  of  later  times 
is  of  quite  a  secondary  character,  and 
that  the  distinctive  character  of  Cortona 
is  to  be  the  city  of  the  Etruscan  walls. 
In  truth,  a  certain  degree  of  wonder 
is  awakened  by  the  fact  that  Cortona 
exists  at  all.  It  would  have  been  by 
no  means  amazing  if  we  had  found 
only  its  ruins,  as  on  so  many  other  old- 
world  sites  for  which  later  times  have 
found  no  use.  Great  in  its  earliest 
days,  foremost  among  the  Etruscan 
cities  of  the  mountains,  Cortona  has 
never  been  great  in  any  later  age.  As 
a  Roman  city  and  colony  it  was  of 
so  little  account  that,  even  in  Italy, 
where  bishops  are  so  thick  upon  the 
ground,  it  did  not  become  a  bishopric 


i6  irtai^. 

till  the  fourteenth  century.  Just  at 
that  time  came  its  short  period  of  any- 
thing like  importance  ambng  the  cities 
of  mediaeval  Italy.  Sold  to  Florence 
early  in  the  fifteenth  century,  it  has 
ever  since  followed  the  fortunes  of  the 
ruling  city.  Yet  through  all  these 
changes  Cortona  has  managed  to  live 
on,  though  we  can  hardly  say  to  flour- 
ish. It  still  keeps  the  character  of  a 
city,  though  a  small  and  mean  one, 
inhabited  by  a  race  of  whom  the 
younger  sort  seem  to  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  run  after  the  occasional  vis- 
itor. One  ragged  urchin  offers  to  ac- 
company him  to  the  cathedral ;  another 
persists  in  following  him  round  nearly 
the  whole  circuit  of  the  ancient  walls. 
This  last  is  too  bad  ;  a  walk  round  the 
walls  of  Cortona  is  emphatically  one 
of  those  things  which  are  best  enjoyed 
in  one's  own  company. 

As  an  Italian  city  which  has  lived, 
though  in  rather  a  feeble  way,  through 


Cortona.  17 


the  regular  stages  of  Roman  colony 
and  mediaeval  commonwealth,  Cortona 
has  of  course  its  monuments  which 
record  those  periods  of  its  being.  There 
are  some  small  fragments  of  Roman 
work,  but  nothing  that  can  be  called  a 
Roman  building.  There  is  a  crowd  of 
churches  and  monasteries,  but  none  of 
any  great  architectural  value,  though 
some  contain  works  of  importance  in 
the  history  of  painting.  It  perhaps 
marks  the  position  of  Cortona  as  a 
comparatively  modern  bishopric  that 
its  cathedral  church  is  in  no  sort  the 
crowning  building  of  the  city.  The 
duomo  stands  about  half-way  up  the 
height  within  the  town,  on  a  corner  of 
the  walls.  Its  elegant  Renaissance 
interior  has  been  already  spoken  of; 
it  seems  to  have  supplanted  a  Roman- 
esque building  the  columns  of  which 
may  have  been  used  again.  The  point 
in  the  upper  city  where  we  should 
have  looked  for  the  duomo  is  occupied 


i8  irtal^. 

by  the  Church  of  St.  Margaret,  that 
is,  Margaret  of  Cortona,  described  over 
her  portal  as  ' '  pcenitens  Margarita, ' ' 
marked  off  thereby  alike  from  the  vir- 
gin of  Antioch  and  from  the  matron 
of  Scotland.  The  municipal  buildings 
are  not  remarkable,  though  one  wall 
of  the  Palazzo  Pretorio  must  be  a 
treasure-house  for  students  of  Italian 
'heraldry,  thickly  coated  as  it  is  with 
the  arms  of  successive  podestas.  Of 
private  palaces  the  steep  and  narrow 
streets  contain  one  or  two  ;  but  it  is 
not  on  its  street  architecture  that  Cor- 
tona can  rest  its  claim  to  fame.  From 
the  lower  city,  with  its  labyrinth  of 
streets,  we  may  climb  to  the  acropolis. 
Here,  around  the  Church  of  St.  Mar- 
garet, all  seems  desolate.  The  Fran- 
ciscan convent  on  the  slope  below  it 
lies  in  ruins — not  an  usual  state  for 
an  Italian  building.  The  castle  above, 
fenced  in  by  its  ditch,  seems  as  deso- 
late  as   everything   around,  save   the 


Cortona.  19 


new  or  renewed  fabric  of  St.  Marga- 
ret's. This  height  is  the  point  of  view 
to  which  the  visitor  to  Cortona  will  be 
first  taken,  if  he  listens  to  local  impor- 
tunity. A  noble  outlook  it  is  ;  but 
the  traveller  can  find  points  of  view 
equally  noble  in  the  course  of  the  work 
which  should  be  done  first  of  all — that 
of  compassing  the  mighty  wall  which 
is  the  thing  that  makes  Cortona  what 
it  is. 

The  process  of  going  to  the  back  of 
the  city,  which  may  be  done  in  some 
measure  at  Arezzo,  may  be  done  in  all 
its  fulness  at  Cortona.  Happily,  very 
nearly  the  whole  wall  can  be  com- 
passed without,  and  in  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  its  course  more  or  less 
of  the  old  Etruscan  rampart  remains. 
In  many  places  the  mighty  stones  still 
stand  to  no  small  height,  patched  of 
course  and  raised  with  work  of  later 
times,  but  still  standing  firmly  fixed 
as  they  were  laid  when  Cortona  stood 


20  1ftal^. 

in  the  first  rank  among  the  cities  of 
the  Rasena.  Not  that  there  is  reason 
to  attribute  any  amazing  antiquity  to 
these  walls.  We  must  remember  that 
the  Etruscan  cities  kept  their  local 
freedom  till  the  days  of  Sulla,  and  that 
some  Etruscan  works  are  later  than 
some  Roman  works.  The  masonry  is  by 
no  means  of  the  rough  and  early  kind  ; 
yet  the  one  remaining  gate,  unluckily 
blocked,  is  square-headed,  and  might 
almost  have  stood  at  Myk^n^.  On  the 
highest  point,  the  hindermost  point, 
the  wildest  and  most  desolate  point, 
where,  though  just  outside  an  inhab- 
ited city,  we  feel  as  if  we  were  in  a 
land  forsaken  of  men,  the  Etruscan 
wall  has  largely  given  way  to  the 
mediaeval  fortress  whose  present  as- 
pect dates  from  Medicean  days.  But 
it  has  given  way  only  to  leave  one  of 
the  grandest  pieces  of  the  whole  wall 
standing  as  an  outpost  in  the  rear  of 
the    city,    overhanging    the    steepest 


Cottona, 


point  of  the  whole  hill.  The  Etruscan 
wall,  the  Medicean  castle,  one  seeming 
to  stand  as  forsaken  and  useless  as  the 
other,  fomi  a  summary  of  the  history 
of  Cortona  in  stone  and  brick. 

From  the  walls  we  may  well  turn  to 
the  Museum,  to  see  the  tombs  and  the 
other  relics  of  the  men  who  reared 
them.  Pre-eminent  among  them,  the 
glory  of  the  Cortonese  collection,  as 
the  Chimaera  is  the  glory  of  the  Flor- 
entine collection,  is  a  magnificent 
bronze  lamp,  wrought  with  endless 
mythological  figures.  Near  it  stands 
the  painting  of  a  female  head,  which 
we  might  at  first  take  for  the  work  of 
Renaissance  hands,  and  in  which  those 
who  are  skilled  in  such  matters  profess 
to  recognize  the  existing  type  of  Cor- 
tonese beauty.  The  painting  however 
dates  from  the  days  when  Cortona 
was  still  Etruscan.  Perugia  keeps  her 
ancient  inhabitants  themselves,  in  the 
shape    at   least    of   their    skulls  and 


22  Iftali?. 

skeletons.  At  Cortona  the  remote 
mothers,  it  may  be,  of  her  present 
people  live  more  vividly  in  the  form 
of  the  Muse  whose  features  were 
copied,  it  may  be  nineteen  hundred 
3^ears  back,  from  the  living  counte- 
nance of  one  of  them. 


Perugia. 


THE  hill-city  of  Perugia  supplies  an 
instructive  contrast  with  the  hill- 
city  of  Cortona.  The  obvious  contrast 
in  the  matter  of  modem  prosperity  and 
importance  is  an  essential  part  of  the 
comparative  history.  Cortona  has 
through  all  ages  lived  on,  but  not 
much  more  than  lived  on.  Perugia 
has,  through  all  ages,  kept,  if  not  a 
place  in  the  first  rank  of  Italian  cities, 
yet  at  any  rate  a  high  place  in  the 
second  rank.  She  never  had  the  Euro- 
pean importance  of  Venice,  Genoa, 
Florence,  Naples,  and  Milan,  or  of 
Pisa  in  her  great  days.  But  in  the 
purely  Italian  history  of  all  ages 
Perugia  keeps  herself  before  our  eyes, 
23 


24  1[tali2. 

as  a  city  of  mark,  from  the  wars  of 
the  growing  Roman  commonwealth 
down  to  the  struggle  which  in  our 
own  days  freed  her  from  a  second 
Roman  yoke.  In  the  civil  wars  of  the 
old  Rome,  in  the  wars  between  the 
Goth  and  the  New  Rome,  in  the  long 
tale  of  the  troubled  greatness  of  medi- 
aeval Italy,  Etruscan  Perusia,  Roman 
Augusta  Perusia,  mediaeval  and  mod- 
ern Perugia,  holds  no  mean  place. 
And  the  last  act  in  the  long  drama  is 
not  the  least  notable.  It  sounds  like 
a  bit  out  of  Plutarch's  "  lyife  of  Ti- 
moleon,"  when  we  read  or  when  we 
remember  how,  twice  within  our  own 
days,  little  more  than  twenty  and 
thirty  years  back,  the  fortress  of  the 
tyrants  was  swept  away,  as  the  great 
symbolic  act  which  crowned  the  win- 
ning back  of  freedom  in  its  newest 
form.  When  a  city  has  such  a  tale 
as  this  to  tell,  we  do  not  expect,  we 
do  not  wish,  that  its  only  or  its  chief 


peruala*  25 

interest  should  gather  round  the  monu- 
ments of  an  early  and  almost  prae- 
historic  day  of  greatness.  At  Cortona 
we  are  glad  that  things  Etruscan  are 
undoubtedly  uppermost.  At  Perugia 
we  are  glad  that  things  Etruscan  are 
there  to  be  seen  in  abundance  ;  but 
we  also  welcome  the  monuments  of 
Roman  days,  pagan  and  Christian ; 
we  welcome  the  streets,  the  churches, 
and  palaces  of  mediaeval  times,  and 
even  the  works  of  recent  times  indeed. 
The  Place  of  Victor  Emmanuel  with 
the  modern  buildings  which  crown 
it,  supplanting  the  fortress  of  Pope 
Paul,  as  that  supplanted  the  houses, 
churches,  and  palaces  of  earlier  times, 
is  as  much  a  part  of  the  history  of 
Perugia  as  the  Arch  of  Augustus  or 
the  Etruscan  wall  itself. 

The  difference  between  the  abiding 
greatness  of  Perugia  and  the  abiding 
littleness  of  Cortona  is  no  doubt  largely 
due  to  the  physical  difference  of  their 


I  UNIVERSITY  \ 


26  1ftal^. 

sites.  Both  are  hill-cities,  mountain- 
cities,  if  we  will ;  but  they  sit  upon 
hills  of  quite  different  kinds.  The  hill 
of  Perugia  is  better  fitted  for  growth 
than  the  hill  of  Cortona.  Cortona  sits 
on  a  single  hill-top.  Perugia  sits,  not 
indeed  on  seven  hills,  but  on  a  hill 
of  complicated  outline,  which  throws 
out  several — possibly  seven — outlying, 
mostly  lower,  spurs,  with  deep  valleys 
between  them.  The  Etruscan  and 
Roman  city  took  in  only  the  central 
height,  itself  of  a  very  irregular  shape 
and  at  some  points  very  narrow.  The 
lower  and  outlying  spurs  were  taken 
within  the  city  in  later  times.  Hence 
it  is  only  in  a  small  part  of  their  cir- 
cuit that  the  original  walls  remain  the 
present  external  walls ;  it  is  only  on 
part  of  its  western  side  that  we  can  at 
all  go  behind  Perugia.  But  the  lower 
city  is  still  thoroughly  a  hill-city.  The 
hill  of  Perugia  is  lower  than  the  hill 
of  Cortona,  while  the  city  of  Perugia 


peruala,  27 


is  vastly  greater  than  the  city  of  Cor- 
tona.  But  Perugia  is  as  far  removed 
as  Cortona  from  coming  down  into  the 
plain.  On  the  little  hill  of  Arezzo 
such  a  process  could  happen,  and  it 
has  happened.  Not  so  with  the  loftier 
seats  of  its  neighbours.  Cortona  is  not 
likely  to  grow  ;  Perugia  very  likely 
may.  But  it  will  take  a  long  period 
of  downward  growth  before  unbroken 
dwellings  of  men  stretch  all  the  w^ay 
from  its  railway  station  to  its  munici- 
pal palace. 

At  Perugia,  as  becomes  its  history, 
no  one  class  of  monuments  draws  to 
itself  exclusive,  or  even  predominant, 
attention.  Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  the 
municipal  element  is  the  most  striking. 
The  vast  pile  of  the  public  palace,  its 
grand  portal,  its  bold  ranges  of  win- 
dows, its  worthy  satellites,  the  Ex- 
change, and  the  great  fountain  with  its 
marvels  of  sculpture,  utterly  outdo,  as 
the  central  points  of  the  city,  the  lofty 


28  irtalis. 

but  shapeless  and  unfinished  cathedral 
which  stands  opposite  to  them.  And 
at  this  point,  the  Church  and  the  com- 
monwealth are  the  only  rivals;  the 
remains  of  earlier  times  do  not  come 
into  view.  For  them  we  must  seek, 
but  at  no  great  distance.  Go  down 
from  the  central  height,  and  stand  on 
the  bridge  which  spans  the  Via  Appia 
of  Perugia,  a  strange  namesake  for  the 
Via  Appia  of  Rome.  There  the  walls 
of  the  Etruscan  city,  rising  on  the  one 
side  above  the  houses,  on  the  other 
above  one  of  the  deep  valleys,  form  the 
main  feature.  And,  if  they  lose  in 
effect  from  the  modern  houses  built 
upon  them,  the  very  incongruity  has  a 
kind  of  attractiveness,  as  binding  the 
two  ends  of  the  story  together.  From 
this  point  of  view,  Perugia  is  specially 
Perugian.  And,  if  the  walls  are  less 
perfect  than  those  of  Cortona,  they 
have  something  that  Cortona  has  not. 
The  Arch  of  Augustus,  the  barrier 


Ipcrugia.  29 

between  the  older  and  the  newer  city, 
spans  the  steep  and  narrow  street 
fittingly  known  as  Via  Vecchia.  At 
Perugia  the  name  of  Augustus  sug- 
gests the  thought  whether  he  really 
made  the  bloody  sacrifice  to  the  manes 
of  his  uncle  with  which  some  reports 
charge  him.  The  gate  at  least  makes 
no  answer,  save  that  we  see  that  the 
Roman  built  on  the  foundations  of 
the  Etruscan,  save  that  the  legend  of 
'  *  Augusta  Perusia  ' '  is  itself  a  record 
of  destruction  and  revival.  The  gate- 
way, tall,  narrow,  gloomy,  the  Roman 
arch  springing  from  two  vast  Etruscan 
towers,  is  a  contrast  indeed  to  such 
strictly  architectural  designs  as  the 
two  gates  of  Autun.  The  Roman 
builder  was  evidently  cramped  by  the 
presence  of  the  older  work.  In  fact  the 
general  character  of  the  gateway  has 
more  in  common  with  the  endless 
mediaeval  gateways  and  arches  which 
span  the  streets  of  Perugia.     Of  really 


30  1Ftal^. 

better  design,  though  blocked  and  in 
a  less  favourable  position,  is  the  other 
gateway,  the  Porta  Martis,  which  now 
makes  part  of  the  substructure  of  the 
new  piazza,  as  it  once  did  of  that  of 
the  papal  fortress.  And  he  who  looks 
curiously  will  find  out,  not  indeed  any 
more  Roman  gateways,  but  the  jambs 
from  which  at  least  two  other  arches, 
either  Roman  or  Etruscan,  once  sprang. 
The  walls  and  gateways  of  a  city 
can  hardly  be  called  its  skeleton,  but 
they  are  in  some  sort  its  shell.  And 
at  Perugia  the  body  within  the  shell 
was  of  no  mean  kind.  Take  away 
every  great  public  building,  church,  or 
palace,  and  Perugia  itself,  its  mere 
streets  and  houses,  would  have  a  great 
deal  to  show.  With  no  grand  street 
arcades  like  Bologna,  few  or  no  strik- 
ing private  palaces  like  Venice  and 
Verona,  Perugia  once  had  vStreets  after 
streets — the  small  and  narrow  streets 
not  the  least  conspicuously — of  a  thor- 


©etuQta*  31 


oughly  good  and  simple  style  of  street 
architecture.  Arched  doors  and 
arched  windows  are  all,  and  they  are 
quite  enough.  Some  are  round,  some 
are  pointed ;  some  are  of  brick,  some 
of  stone  ;  and  those  of  brick  with 
round  arches  are  decidedly  the  best. 
But  never  were  buildings  more  mer- 
cilessly spoiled  than  the  Perugian 
houses.  As  in  England  mediaeval 
houses  are  spoiled  to  make  bigger 
windows,  so  at  Perugia  they  are 
spoiled  to  make  smaller  windows. 
Most  of  the  doorways  and  windows 
are  cut  through  and  blocked,  and  an 
ugly  square  hole  is  bored  to  do  the 
duty  of  the  artistic  feature  which  is 
destroyed.  No  land  has  more  to  show 
in  the  way  of  various  forms  of  beauty 
than  Italy  ;  but  when  an  Italian  does 
go  in  for  ugliness  he  beats  all  other 
nations  in  carrying  out  his  object. 

Perugia,  we  need  hardly   say,   is  a 
city  of  paintings,  and  it  is  as  receptacles 


32  irtali2- 

for  paintings  that  its  churches  seem 
mainly  to  be  looked  on.  But  some  of 
them  deserve  no  small  attention  on 
other  grounds.  At  the  two  ends  of 
the  city  are  two  churches  which  fol- 
low naturally  on  the  Etruscan  and 
Roman  walls  and  gates.  At  one  end, 
the  Church  of  St.  Angelo,  circular 
within,  sixteen-sided  without,  forms 
one  of  the  long  series  of  round  and 
polygonal  churches  which  stretch  from 
Jerusalem  to  Ludlow.  And  this, 
clearly  a  building  of  Christian  Roman 
times,  with  its  beautiful  marble  and 
granite  Corinthian  columns,  though 
not  one  of  the  greatest  in  size,  holds 
no  mean  place  among  them.  At  the 
other  end,  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Peter, 
amid  many  changes,  still  keeps  two 
noble  ranges  of  Ionic  columns,  the 
spoils  doubtless  of  some  Pagan  build- 
ing at  its  first  erection  in  the  eleventh 
century.  Nor  must  the  duonio  itself 
be  judged   of   by   its    outside.      The 


Iperugla*  33 

work  of  a  German  architect,  it  shows 
a  German  character  in  the  three 
bodies  of  the  same  height,  and  its  pil- 
lars consequently  of  amazing  height. 
But  at  Perugia  it  is  not  churches  or 
palaces  or  earlier  remains  which  we 
study,  each  apart  from  other  things. 
Here  they  all  unite  to  form  a  whole 
greater  than  any  one  class  alone — 
Augusta  Perusia  itself. 

VOL.  II. — ^3 


S 


Ube  IDolumnian  TLomb. 


'X'HE  ancient  Etruscans  have  some 
^  points  of  analogy  with  the  modern 
Freemasons.  This  last  familiar  and 
yet  mysterious  body  seems  to  let  the 
outer  world  know  everything  about 
itself,  except  what  it  is.  We  have  read 
various  books  by  Freemasons  about 
Freemasonry,  about  its  history,  its 
constitution,  its  ritual.  On  all  these 
points  they  seem  to  give  us  the  fullest 
particulars  :  we  have  only  to  complain 
that  the  historical  part  is  a  little  vague, 
and  its  evidence  a  little  uncertain.  We 
vShould  not  like  rashly  to  decide  whether 
Freemasonry  was  already  ancient  in 
the  days  of  Solomon  or  whether  it  can- 
not be  traced  with  certainty  any  furthei 
34 


Zbc  IDolumnian  ^omb.  35 


back  than  the  eighteenth  century. 
But  we  know  the  exact  duties  of  a 
Tyler,  and  we  know  that  at  the  end 
of  a  Masonic  prayer  we  should  answer, 
not  "Amen,"  but  ''So  mote  it  be." 
Still,  what  Freemasonry  is,  how  a 
man  becomes  a  Freemason,  or  what 
really  distinguishes  a  Freemason  from 
other  people,  are  points  about  which 
the  Masonic  books  leave  us  wholly  in 
the  dark.  So  it  is  with  the  Etruscans. 
We  seem  to  know  everything  about 
them,  except  who  they  were.  As  far  as 
we  can  know  a  people  from  their  arts  and 
monuments,  there  is  no  people  whom 
we  seem  to  know  better.  We  have 
full  and  clear  monumental  evidence  as 
to  the  people  themselves,  as  to  many 
points  in  their  w^ays,  thoughts,  and 
belief.  We  know  how  they  built, 
carved,  and  painted,  and  their  build- 
ings, sculptures,  and  paintings,  tell  us 
in  many  points  how  they  lived,  and 
what  was  their  faith  and  worship.    We 


36  lltal^* 

have  indeed  no  Etruscan  books;  but 
their  language  still  lives,  at  least  it 
abides,  in  endless  inscriptions.  But 
who  the  Etruscans  were,  and  what 
their  language  was,  remain  unsolved 
puzzles.  The  ordinary  scholar  is  half- 
amused,  half-provoked,  at  long  lines 
of  alphabetic  writing,  of  which,  as  far 
as  the  mere  letters  go,  he  can  read  a 
great  deal,  but  of  which,  save  here 
and  there  a  proper  name,  he  cannot 
understand  a  word.  He  knows  that 
one  ingenious  man  has  read  it  all  into 
good  German  and  another  into  good 
Turkish.  He  curses  every  Lucumo 
whose  image  he  sees  for  sticking  like 
a  Frenchman  to  his  own  tongue.  Why 
could  they  not  write  up  everything  in 
three  or  four  languages  ?  How  happy 
he  would  be  if  he  could  light  on  a 
lyatin  or  Greek  crib  which  would  give 
life  to  the  dead  letter.  For  surely 
nothing  in  the  world  so  truly  answers 
the    description  of  a  dead  letter,   as 


Ube  IDolumnian  tTomb,  37 


words  after  words,  most  of  which  it  is 
not  hard  to  spell,  but  at  the  meaning 
of  which  we  cannot  even  guess. 

It  is  natural  that  in  the  museums 
of  the  Ktruscan  cities  the  monuments 
of  a  kind  whose  interest  is  specially 
local  should  form  a  chief  part  of  the 
show.  At  Florence,  at  Arezzo,  at 
Cortona,  at  Perugia,  the  collections 
which  each  city  has  brought  together 
make  us  familiar,  if  we  are  not  so 
already,  with  much  of  Etruscan  art 
and  Etruscan  life.  Or  shall  we  say 
that  what  they  really  make  us  familiar 
with  is  more  truly  Etruscan  death? 
Our  knowledge  of  most  nations  of 
remote  times  comes  largely  from  their 
tombs  and  from  the  contents  of  their 
tombs,  and  this  must  specially  be  the 
case  with  a  people  who,  like  the  Etrus- 
cans, have  left  no  literature  behind 
them.  The  last  distinction  makes  it 
hardly  fair  to  attempt  any  comparison 
between    the    Etruscans   and  nations 


38  ttm* 

like  the  Greeks  or  the  Romans,  with 
whose  writings  we  are  familiar.  But 
suppose  we  had  no  Greek  or  Roman 
literature,  suppose  we  had,  as  we  have 
in  the  case  of  the  Etruscans,  no  means 
of  learning  anything  of  Greek  or 
Roman  life,  except  from  Greek  and 
Roman  monuments.  The  sepulchral 
element  would  be  very  important  ; 
but  it  would  hardly  be  so  distinctly 
dominant  as  it  is  in  the  Etruscan 
case.  At  all  events,  it  would  not 
be  so  distinctly  forced  upon  the 
thoughts  as  it  is  in  the  Etruscan  case. 
Take  a  Roman  sarcophagus  :  we  know 
it  to  be  sepulchral,  but  it  does  not  of 
itself  proclaim  its  use  ;  there  often  is 
no  distinct  reference  to  the  deceased 
person  ;  at  all  events,  his  whole 
figure  is  not  graven  on  the  top  of 
the  chest  which  contains  his  bones 
or  his  ashes.  But  in  the  Etruscan 
museums  it  is  the  sepulchral  figures 
which  draw  the  eye  and  the  thoughts 


^be  IDolumnlan  ^omb.  39 


towards  them  far  more  than  anything 
else,  more  than  even  the  chimaera,  the 
bronze  lamp,  and  the  painted  muse. 
Of  various  sizes,  of  various  degrees  of 
art,  they  all  keep  one  general  likeness. 
The  departed  I^ucumo  leans  on  his 
elbow,  his  hand  holding  what  the  un- 
initiated are  tempted  to  take  for  a  dish 
symbolizing  his  admittance  to  divine 
banquets  in  the  other  world,  but  which 
the  learned  tell  us  is  designed  to  catch 
the  tears  of  those  who  mourn  for  him. 
Sometimes  the  Lucumonissa — if  we 
may  coin  so  mediaeval  a  form — lies 
apart,  sometimes  along  with  her  hus- 
band. On  the  whole,  these  Etruscan 
sculptures  seem  to  bring  us  personally 
nearer  to  the  men  of  a  distant  age  and 
a  mysterious  race  than  is  done  by  any- 
thing in  either  Greek  or  Roman  art. 

But  if  these  works  can  teach  us  thus 
much  when  set  in  rows  in  a  place  where 
they  were  never  meant  to  be  set  up, 
how  much  more  plainly  do  they  speak 


40  fftal^. 

to  us  when  we  see  them  at  home,  un- 
touched, in  the  place  and  in  the  state 
in  which  the  first  artist  set  them  ! 
The  Volumnian  tomb  near  Perugia  is 
one  of  the  sights  which,  when  once 
seen,  is  not  likely  to  be  forgotten. 
The  caution  does  not  bear  on  Etruscan 
art ;  but  it  is  well  to  walk  to  it  from 
St.  Peter's  Abbey  ;  going  by  the  rail- 
way is  a  roundabout  business,  and  the 
walk  downwards  commands  a  glorious 
and  ever-shifting  view  over  the  plain 
and  the  mountains,  with  the  towns  of 
Assisi,  Spello,  and  a  third  further  on 
— can  it  be  distant  Trevi  ?  Foligno  lies 
down  in  the  plain — each  seated  on  its 
hill.  The  tomb  is  reached  :  a  small 
collection  from  other  places  has  been 
formed  on  each  side  of  the  door.  This 
is  all  very  well  ;  but  we  doubt  the 
wisdom  of  putting,  as  we  understood 
had  been  done,  some  things  from  other 
places  in  the  tomb  itself.  But  this  is 
not  a  moment  at  which  we  are  inclined 


^be  Dolumnian  tTomb.  41 


to  find  fault.  We  rejoice  at  finding 
that  what  ought  to  be  there  is  so 
happily  and  wisely  left  in  its  place, 
and  are  not  greatly  disturbed  if  a  few 
things  are  put  inside  which  had  better 
have  been  left  outside.  The  stone 
doorway  of  the  lintelled  entrance — 
moved  doubtless  only  when  another 
member  of  the  house  was  literally 
gathered  to  his  fathers — stands  by  the 
side  ;  it  was  too  cumbrous  to  be  kept 
in  its  old  place  now  that  the  tomb 
stands  ready  to  be  entered  by  all  whose 
tastes  lead  them  that  way.  We  go  in  ; 
the  mind  goes  back  to  ruder  sepulchres 
at  Uleybury  and  New  Grange,  of  sepul- 
chres at  least  as  highly  finished  in 
their  own  way  at  Myken^,  But  those 
were  built,  piled  up  of  stones  ;  here 
the  dwelling  of  the  dead  Lucumos  is 
hewn  in  the  native  tufa.  The  top  is 
not,  as  we  might  have  looked  for, 
domical ;  it  imitates  the  forms  of  a 
wooden  roof.     From  it  still  hang  the 


42  1Ftal^. 

lamps ;  on  its  surface  are  carved  the 
heads  of  the  sun-god  and  of  the  ever- 
recurring  Medusa.  Nor  is  the  sun- 
god's  own  presence  utterly  shut  out 
from  the  home  of  the  dead.  It  is  a 
strange  feeling  when  a  burst  of  sun- 
shine through  the  open  door  kindles 
the  eyes  of  the  Gorgon  with  a  strange 
brilliancy,  and  lights  up  the  innermost 
recess,  almost  as  when  the  sinking 
rays  light  up  the  apses  of  Rheims 
and  of  St.  Mark's.  In  that  innermost 
recess,  fronting  us  as  we  enter,  lies  on 
his  kistwaen — may  we  transfer  the  bar- 
barian name  to  so  delicate  a  work  of 
art  ? — the  father  of  the  household  gath- 
ered around  him.  He  is  doubtless  very 
far  from  being  the  first  Felimna,  but 
the  first  Felimna  whose  ashes  rest  here. 
The  name  of  the  family  can  be  spelled 
out  easily  by  those  who,  without  boast- 
ing any  special  Etruscan  lore,  are  used 
to  the  oldest  Greek  writing  from  right 
to   left.     Children  and  grandchildren 


Zhc  IDolumntan  ^omb.  43 


are  grouped  around  the  patriarch  ;  and 
here  comes  what,  from  a  strictly 
historical  view,  is  the  most  speaking 
thing  in  the  whole  tomb.  The  name 
of  Avle  Felimna  can  be  easily  read  on 
a  chest  on  the  right  hand.  On  the 
left  hand  opposite  to  it  is  another  chest 
which  has  forsaken  the  Etruscan  type. 
Here  is  no  figure,  no  legend  in 
mysterious  characters.  We  have  in- 
stead one  of  those  sepulchral  chests 
which  imitate  the  figure  of  a  hoUvSe 
with  doors.  The  legend,  in  every-day 
Latin,  announces  that  the  ashes  within 
it  are  those  of  P.  Volumnius  A.  F. 
That  is,  the  Etruscan  Avle  Felimna 
was  the  father  of  the  Roman  Publius 
Volumnius.  We  are  in  the  first  cen- 
tury before  our  sera,  when  the  old 
Etruscan  life  ended  after  the  Social 
War,  and  when  the  lyucumos  of  Arre- 
tium  and  Perusia  became  Roman  Clinii 
and  Volumnii.  To  an  English  scholar 
the  change  comes  home  with  a  special 


44  Iftali?. 

force.  He  has  an  analogy  in  the  change 
of  nomenclature  in  his  own  land  under 
Norman  influences  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. Publius  Volumnius,  son  of  Avle 
Felimna,  is  the  exact  parallel  to  Robert 
the  son  of  Gk)dwin,  and  a  crowd  of 
others  in  his  days,  Norman-named 
sons  of  English  fathers. 

We  are  not  describing  at  length  what 
may  be  found  described  at  length  else- 
where. But  there  is  another  point  in 
these  Etruscan  sculptures  which  gives 
them  a  strange  and  special  interest. 
This  is  their  strangely  Christian  look. 
The  genii  are  wonderfully  like  angels  ; 
but  so  are  many  Roman  figures  also, 
say  those  in  the  spandrils  of  the  arch 
of  Severus.  But  Roman  art  has  noth- 
ing to  set  alongside  of  the  Lucumo 
reclining  on  his  tomb,  not  exactly  like 
a  strictly  mediaeval  recumbent  figure, 
but  very  like  a  tomb  of  the  type  not  un- 
common a  little  later,  say  in  the  time  of 
Elizabeth  and  James  the  First.  And  in 


^be  Dolumnlan  ^omb^  45 


the  sculptures  on  the  chests,  wherever, 
instead  of  familiar  Greek  legends,  they 
give  us  living  pictures  of  Etruscan  life, 
we  often  see  the  sons  of  the  Rasena 
clearly  receiving  a  kind  of  baptism. 
There  is  no  kind  of  ancient  works 
which  need  a  greater  effort  to  believe 
in  their  antiquity.  And  nowhere  do 
the  sculptures  look  fresher — almost 
modern — than  when  seen  in  contrast 
with  the  walls  and  roof  above  and 
beside  them,  the  sepulchre  hewn  in 
the  rock,  with  the  great  stone  rolled  to 
its  door. 


pta^^^ifranciscan  Hssisi* 


T^HERE  is  a  certain  satisfaction,  a 
*  satisfaction  which  has  a  spice  of 
mischief  in  it,  in  dwelling  on  some 
feature  in  a  place  which  is  quite  differ- 
ent from  that  which  makes  the  place 
famous  with  the  world  in  general.  So 
to  do  is  sometimes  needful  as  a  protest 
against  serious  error.  When  so  many 
members  of  Parliament  showed  a  few 
years  back,  and  when  the  Times 
showed  only  a  very  little  time  back, 
that  they  believed  that  the  University 
of  Oxford  was  founded  by  somebody — 
Alfred  will  do  as  well  as  anybody  else 
— and  that  the  city  of  Oxford  some- 
how grew  up  around  the  University, 
it  became,  and  it  remains,  a  duty 
46 


Ipra^=^ranci6can  B6Si6t»         47 


to  historic  truth  to  point  out  the  im- 
portance of  Oxford,  geographical  and 
therefore  political  and  military,  for 
some  ages  before  the  University  was 
heard  of  When  the  Times  thought 
that  Oxford  was  left  to  the  scholars, 
because  ' '  thanes  and  barons  ' '  did  not 
think  it  worth  struggling  for,  the 
Times  clearly  did  not  know  that 
schools  grew  up  at  Oxford  then,  just 
as  schools  have  grown  up  at  Man- 
chester since,  because  Oxford  was  al- 
ready, according  to  the  standard  of  the 
time,  a  great,  flourishing,  and  central 
town,  and  therefore  fittingly  chosen  as 
a  seat  of  councils  and  parliaments. 
Here  there  is  real  error  to  fight 
against ;  in  other  cases  there  is  simply 
a  kind  of  pleasure  in  pointing  out  that, 
while  the  received  object  of  attraction 
in  a  place  is  often  perfectly  worthy  of 
its  fame,  the  place  contains  other,  and 
often  older,  objects  which  are  worthy 
of  some  measure  of  fame  also.      It  is 


48  irtai^. 

quite  possible  that  some  people  may 
think  that  the  town  of  Assisi  grew  up 
round  the  church  and  monastery  of 
Saint  Francis.  If  anyone  does  think 
so,  the  error  is  of  exactly  the  same  kind 
as  the  error  of  thinking  that  the  city 
of  Oxford  grew  up  around  the  Uni- 
versity. It  is  Saint  Francis  and  his 
church  which  have  made  Assisi  a 
place  of  world-wide  fame  and  world- 
wide pilgrimage,  and  Saint  Francis 
and  his  church  are  fully  worthy  of 
their  fame.  Yet  Assisi  had  been  a 
city  of  men  for  ages  on  ages  before 
Saint  Francis  was  bom,  and  Assisi 
would  still  be  a  place  well  worthy 
of  a  visit,  though  Saint  Francis 
had  never  been  bom,  and  though 
his  church  had  therefore  never  been 
built.  It  is  perhaps  a  light  mat- 
ter that  Assisi  had  eminent  citizens 
besides  Saint  Francis  and  very  unlike 
Saint  Francis,  that  it  was  the  birth- 
place of  Propertius  before  him  and 


IptacsJ'ranciscan  'BeeieU  49 


of  Metastasio  after  him.  But  before 
Assisi,  as  the  birthplace  of  the  se- 
raphic doctor,  had  earned  a  right  to 
be  itself  called  ''seraphica  civitas," 
before  one  of  its  later  churches  came  to 
rank  with  the  patriarchal  basilicas  of 
Rome,  Assisi  had,  as  a  Roman  and  an 
early  mediaeval  city,  covered  its  soil 
with  monuments  of  which  not  a  few 
still  exist  and  which  are  well  worthy 
of  study.  And  in  one  way  they 
have  a  kind  of  connexion  with  Saint 
Francis  which  his  own  church  has  not. 
The  saint  never  saw  his  own  monu- 
ment ;  it  would  have  vexed  his  soul 
could  he  have  known  that  such  a 
monument  was  to  be.  But  in  his 
youth  he  saw,  and  doubtless  mused,  as 
on  the  bleak  mountain  of  Subasio  and 
the  yellow  stream  of  Chiaschio,  so  also 
on  the  campanile  and  apse  of  the 
cathedral  church  of  St.  Rufino  and  on 
the  columns  of  the  converted  temple 
of  the  Great  Twin  Brethren. 


50  Ktal^, 

Assisi  is  one  of  the  hill-cities ;  but 
the  hill-cities  supply  endless  varieties 
among  themselves.  Assisi  does  not, 
like  the  others  which  we  have  spoken 
of,  occupy  a  hill  which  is  wholly  its 
own ;  the  hill  on  which  it  stands, 
though  very  distinct,  is  still  only  a 
spur  of  a  huge  mountain.  As  at 
Mykene,  while  the  akropolis  is  high 
enough,  there  is  something  far  higher 
rising  immediately  above  it.  And  the 
akropolis  of  Assisi  is  a  mere  fortress  ; 
even  if  it  was  the  primitive  place  of 
shelter,  it  cannot  have  been  inhabited 
for  many  ages.  The  duonio  stands, 
very  far  certainly  from  the  top  of  the 
hill,  but  at  the  top  of  the  really 
inhabited  city  with  its  continuous 
streets,  and  that  is  no  small  height 
from  the  lowest  line  of  them.  Above 
the  church  are  the  remains  of  the 
theatre,  of  the  amphitheatre  ;  the  dis- 
tant tower  beyond  it,  and  soaring  over 
all,  the  fortress  of  Rocco  Grande  with 


Iprat^ffranclscan  Bsslst.         51 


no  dwelling  of  man  near  it,  or  for 
some  way  below  it.  To  go  behind 
Assisi  is  almost  more  needful  than  in 
the  case  of  any  of  the  other  hill-cities, 
not  only  for  the  mediaeval  walls,  for  the 
slight  traces  which  seem  to  mark  an 
outer  and  earlier  wall  ;  but  yet  more 
for  the  view  over  the  narrow  valley, 
the  bleak  hills  scattered  with  houses, 
the  winding  river  at  their  feet,  soon  to 
become  yet  more  winding  in  the  plain, 
and  the  glimpse  far  away  of  Perugia 
on  its  hill.  But  Assisi  has  a  spot 
only  less  wild  within  the  city  walls, 
the  ground  namely  over  which  we 
climb  from  the  inhabited  streets  to  the 
fortress.  So  it  is  at  Cortona  ;  but  there 
the  presence  of  the  church  and  monas- 
tery of  St.  Margaret  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence. The  general  view  of  AvSsisi,  as 
vSeen  from  below,  gives  us  the  church  of 
Saint  Francis  with  the  great  arched  sub- 
structure to  the  left,  the  mountain  to 
the  right ;  between  them  is  a  hill  with 


52  IFtal^. 

a  city  running  along  it  at  about  half 
its  height,  sending  up  a  forest  of  bell- 
towers,  vSome  really  good  in  themselves, 
all  joining  in  the  general  effect.  Above 
all  this  is  the  hill-top,  partly  grassy, 
partly  rocky,  crowned  by  the  towers  of 
the  fortress  which  looks  down  on  all, 
except  the  steep  of  the  mountain 
itself. 

Of  particular  objects  older  than  the 
church  of  Saint  Francis,  a  restriction 
which  of  course  also  cuts  out  the 
church  of  his  friend,  Saint  Clara, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  monu- 
ment of  greatest  interest  is  the  temple 
in  the  forum — now  Piazza  grande — 
with  its  Corinthian  columns  strangely 
hemmed  in  by  a  house  on  one  side  and 
on  the  other  by  the  bell-tower  which 
was  added  when  the  temple  was  turned 
into  a  church.  But  it  is  surely  not,  as 
it  is  locally  called,  a  temple  of  Minerva, 
but  rather  of  Castor  and  Pollux.  Not 
the  least  interesting  part  of  its  belong- 


prxs=ffranci6can  UesieU         53 


ings  lies  below  ground  ;  for  the  level 
of  the  forum  at  Assisi  has  risen  as 
though  it  had  been  at  Rome  or  at 
Trier.  The  temple  must  have  risen 
on  a  bold  flight  of  steps,  of  which 
some  of  the  upper  ones  still  remain. 
In  front  of  it,  below  the  steps,  was  a 
great  altar,  with  the  drains  for  the 
blood  of  the  victims,  just  as  we  see 
them  on  the  Athenian  akropolis. 
Such  drains  always  bring  to  our  mind 
those  comments  of  Dean  Stanley  on 
this  repulsive  feature  of  pagan  and 
ancient  Jewish  worship,  which  has 
passed  away  alike  from  the  church, 
from  the  synagogue,  and  from  the 
mOvSque,  save  only  at  Mecca.  In  front 
again  is  the  dedicatory  inscription  with 
the  name  of  the  founder  of  the  temple, 
and  the  record  of  the  dedication-feast 
which  he  made  to  the  magistrates  and 
people.  His  name  can  doubtless  be 
turned  to  in  Mommsen's  great  collec- 
tion ;    we    are  not  sure    that  in  the 


54  irtali2. 

underground  gloom  we  took  it  down 
quite  correctly,  and  it  is  better  not  to 
be  wrong.  Anyhow  the  dedication  is 
not  to  Minerva  but  to  the  twin  heroes. 
A  great  number  of  inscriptions  are 
built  up  in  the  wall  of  the  church.  As 
usual,  there  are  more  freedmen  than 
sons ;  and  among  the  freedmen  the  one 
best  worth  notice  is  Publius  Decimius 
Eros  Merula,  physician,  surgeon,  and 
oculist,  who  bought  his  freedom  for  so 
much,  his  magistracy  as  one  of  the 
Sexviri  for  so  much,  who  spent  so 
much  on  mending  the  roads,  and  left 
.  so  much  behind  him.  Here  the  state 
of  things  is  vividly  brought  home  to 
us  in  which  a  man  could  buy,  not  only 
his  cook  and  his  coachman,  but  also 
his  architect  and  his  medical  adviser. 
And  we  are  set  thinking  on  the  one 
hand  how  great  must  be  the  physical 
infusion  of  foreign  blood,  Greek  and 
barbarian,  in  the  actual  people  of 
Italy,    and   on  the    other  hand  how 


Ipra:=ffrancl6can  Uesisl         55 


thoroughly  and  speedily  all  such  foreign 
elements  were  practically  Romanized. 
The  son  of  the  slave-born  magistrate 
of  Assisi  would  look  on  himself,  and 
be  looked  on  by  others,  as  no  less  good 
a  Roman  than  any  Fabius  or  Cornelius 
who  might  still  linger  on. 

The  temple  above  ground  and  its 
appurtenances  underground  are  the 
most  memorable  things  in  Prae-Francis- 
can  Assisi ;  but  there  are  other  things 
besides,  both  Roman  and  mediaeval. 
The  lower  church  of  Sta.  Maria  Mag- 
giore,  close  by  the  bishop's  palace, 
and  which  is  said  to  have  been  the 
original  cathedral,  is  a  Romanesque 
building  of  rather  a  German  look,  with 
masses  of  wall  instead  of  columns. 
The  thought  comes  into  the  mind  that 
it  is  the  cella  of  a  temple  with  arches 
cut  through  its  walls.  But  it  hardly 
can  be  ;  the  arrangement  seems  to  be  a 
local  fashion  ;  it  is  found  also  in  the 
later  and  larger  church  of  St.  Peter 


5f>  irtai^. 

hard  by.  Besides,  at  Sta.  Maria  Mag- 
giore  there  are  the  clear  remains  of 
a  Roman  building,  seemingly  a  house, 
with  columns  and  mosaic  floors,  under- 
neath the  present  church  of  St.  Rufino. 
The  later  cathedral  has  been  sadly  dis- 
figured within  ;  but  it  keeps  its  apse 
of  the  twelfth  century,  its  west  front  of 
the  thirteenth,  using  up  older  sculp- 
tures, and  it  has  the  best  bell-tower  in 
Assisi.  And  below  it  remains  the 
crypt  of  the  older  church  of  1028,  with 
ancient  Ionic  columns  used  up,  and 
Corinthian  capitals  imitated  as  they 
might  be  in  1028.  Just  above  are 
scanty  remains  of  the  theatre  ;  above 
again  are  still  scantier  remains  of  the 
amphitheatre ;  but  its  shape  is  im- 
pressed on  the  surrounding  buildings, 
just  as  the  four  arms  of  the  Roman 
Chester  abide  unchanged  in  many  an 
English  town  where  every  actual  house 
is  modern.  A  piece  of  Roman  wall, 
and    a   wide    arch    in    the    Via    San 


pra^=3franci0can  Bs6i6i.  57 


Paolo  leading  out  of  the  forum,  com- 
plete the  remains  of  ancient  Assisi 
above  ground.  It  is  doubtless  alto- 
gether against  rule,  but  among  so  many 
memorials  of  earlier  gods  and  earlier 
saints,  it  is  quite  possible,  in  climbing 
the  steep  and  narrow  streets  of  Assisi, 
to  forget  for  a  while  both  Saint  Francis 
aAd  Saint  Clara. 


Spello^ 

T^HE  Umbrian  town  which  takes  care 
'  to  blazon  over  one  of  its  many 
gates  its  full  description  as  "  Ispello 
Colonia  Giulia,  Citta  Flavia  Costante, ' ' 
is  hardly  of  any  great  fame,  either  as 
ancient  Hispellum  or  as  modem  Spello. 
It  must  have  some  visitors,  drawn 
thither  most  likely  by  two  or  three 
pictures  by  famous  masters  which  re- 
main in  one  of  its  churches.  Some- 
body must  come  to  see  them,  or  their 
keepers  would  not  have  learned  the 
common,  but  shabby,  trick  of  keeping 
them  covered,  in  hopes  of  earning  a 
lira  by  uncovering  them.  May  we 
make  the  confession  that  we  became 
aware — or,  to  speak  more  delicately, 
that  we  were  reminded — of  the  exist- 
58 


Spello.  59 

ence  of  the  colony  at  once  Julian  and 
Flavian  by  the  description  in  the  gen- 
erally excellent  German  guide-book 
of  Gsell-fels  ?  And  may  we  further  add 
that,  though  we  feel  thoroughly  thank- 
ful to  its  author  for  sending  us  to  Spello 
at  all,  yet  his  description  is  not  quite 
so  orderly  as  is  usual  with  him,  and 
that,  though  he  is  perfectly  accurate 
in  his  enumeration  of  the  Roman  monu- 
ments, yet  his  account  led  us  to  expect 
to  find  them  in  a  more  perfect  state 
than  they  actually  are  ?  On  the  whole, 
except  for  the  wonderful  prospect 
which  Spello  shares  with  Perugia  and 
Assisi,  we  should  hardly  send  anybody 
to  Spello  except  a  very  zealous  anti- 
quary ;  but  a  very  zealous  antiquary 
we  certainly  should  send  thither.  There 
is  no  one  object  of  first-rate  importance 
of  any  date  in  the  place  ;  but  there  are 
the  remains  of  a  crowd  of  objects  which 
have  been  of  some  importance.  There 
is  also  the  site  ;  there  is  the  general 


6o  irtal^. 

look  of  the  place,  which  is  akin  to  that 
of  the  other  hill-towns,  but  which,  as 
Spello  is  the  smallest  and  least  fre- 
quented of  the  group,  is  there  less  un- 
touched and  modernized  in  any  way 
than  even  at  Cortona  or  Assisi.  We 
except  of  course  the  fashion  of  merci- 
lessly spoiling  the  mediaeval  houses 
which  has  gone  on  as  merrily  at  Spello 
as  at  Perugia  and  Assisi.  But  that  is  no 
fashion  of  yesterday.  The  general  old- 
world  air,  strong  in  some  parts  of  Peru- 
gia, stronger  at  Assisi,  is  strongest  of  all 
at  Spello,  while  at  Spello  there  seems 
less  eagerness  than  at  Cortona  to  seize 
the  stranger  and  make  a  prey  of  him. 
The  look-out  is  perhaps  the  finest  of  all; 
it  takes  in  as  prominent  objects  sharp- 
peaked  mountains  and  ranges  deep 
with  snow,  which  barely  come  into  the 
other  views,  and  the  long  series  of  hill- 
towns  is  pleasantly  broken  by  the 
towers  and  cupolas  of  Foligno  in  the 
plain.   The  mediaeval  walls  and  towers, 


Spello^  6i 

at  all  events  on  the  south-eastern  side, 
form  a  line  which  is  not  easily  sur- 
passed ;  the  walk  outside  Spello, 
though  it  lacks  both  the  antiquity  and 
the  wildness  of  the  walk  outside  Cor- 
tona,  outdoes  it  in  mere  picturesque 
effect.  The  particular  objects  at  Spello 
are  perhaps  a  little  disappointing : 
Spello  itself,  as  a  whole,  is  certainly 
not  disappointing. 

At  Spello  we  have  reached  an  Italian 
town  which  is  not  a  bishop's  see ;  even 
in  Italy  it  was  not  likely  to  be  so,  with 
Assisi  so  close  on  one  hand  and  Foligno 
on  the  other.  There  is  therefore  no 
duomo,  nor  is  there  any  other  church 
of  much  architectural  importance.  The 
best  are  two  small  forsaken  Roman- 
esque churches  outside  the  walls,  one 
on  each  side  of  the  town.  One  of 
them,  that  of  St.  Claudius,  forms  one 
building  of  a  group  by  which  we  pass 
on  the  road  from  Assisi  to  Spello,  a 
group  lying  in  the  plain,  with  Spello  on 


62  1[tal^. 

its  height  rising  above  them.  There 
is  a  large  modern  villa  which  seems  to 
be  built  on  Roman  foundations  ;  by  its 
side  lies  the  little  Romanesque  church  ; 
nearly  opposite  is  the  amphitheatre  of 
Hispellum,  keeping  some  fragments 
of  its  walls  and  with  its  marked  shape 
deeply  impressed  on  the  ground.  Here 
the  amphitheatre  is  down  in  the  plain  ; 
at  Assisi  it  stands  in  the  higher  part 
of  the  present  city  ;  in  both  it  lies,  ac- 
cording to  rule,  outside  the  original 
Roman  enclosure.  It  shows  the  pas- 
sionate love  for  these  sports  wherever 
the  influence  of  Rome  spread,  that  two 
amphitheatres  could  be  needed  with  so 
small  a  distance  between  them  as  that 
which  parts  Assisi  from  Spello.  More 
nearly  opposite  to  the  villa  are  other  Ro- 
man fragments  which  are  said  to  have 
been  part  of  a  theatre  ;  but  the  form  of 
the  building  is  certainly  not  so  clearly 
stamped  on  the  ground  as  that  of  its 
bloodier  neighbour.     Indeed  we  are  in 


Spello.  63 

a  region  of  Roman  remains  ;  other 
fragments  lie  by  the  roadside  between 
Assisi  and  Spello,  and  when  we  reach 
the  latter  town,  we  find  that,  next  to  its 
general  effect,  it  is  its  Roman  remains 
which  form  its  chief  attraction. 

As  we  draw  near  from  Assisi,  the 
Julian  colony  of  Hispellum,  the  Flavia 
Constans  of  a  later  day,  is  becomingly 
entered  by  a  Roman  gateway  which 
bears  the  name  of  Porta  Consolare. 
But  on  the  road  from  Foligno  the  con- 
sular gate  is  reached  only  through 
a  mediaeval  one,  which  bears,  as  we 
have  said,  all  the  names  of  the  town 
prominently  set  forth  for  the  stranger's 
benefit.  The  consular  gate  stands  at 
the  bottom  of  the  hill :  for  Spello 
thoroughly  occupies  the  whole  of  its 
hill ;  there  is  plenty  of  climbing  to  be 
done  in  its  streets  ;  but  it  has  all  to  be 
done  in  continuous  streets  within  the 
town  walls.  The  consular  gate  has 
been  patched  in  later  times  ;  but  the 


64  1ftal^. 

Roman  arch  is  perfect.  It  is  a  single 
simple  arch,  plain  enough,  and  of  no 
great  height,  a  marked  contrast  to  the 
lofty  arch  of  Perugia.  Another  gate- 
way on  the  side  towards  Assisi,  known 
as  Porta  Veneris,  must  have  been  a 
far  more  elaborate  design.  But  the 
whole  is  imperfect  and  broken  down  ; 
one  arch  of  the  double  entrance  is 
blocked,  and  the  other  is  supplanted 
by  a  later  arch.  Yet  there  is  a  good 
effect  about  the  whole,  owing  to  the 
bold  polygonal  towers  of  later  date 
which  flank  the  Roman  gateway.  An- 
other gateway,  higher  up  on  the  same 
side,  is  cut  down  to  the  mere  stones  of 
an  arch  hanging  in  the  air.  This  is 
locally  known  as  the  arco  di  trionfo. 
Of  the  arco  di  Augusto  within  the  town, 
said  to  be  a  triumphal  arch  of  Macri- 
nus,  there  is  nothing  left  but  a  single 
jamb.  In  short  the  Roman  remains 
of  Hispellum,  though  considerable  in 
number,  are  slight  and  fragmentary  in 


Spcllo,  65 

actual  extent.  Yet  there  is  a  pleasure 
in  tracing  them  out.  Conceive  them 
perfect,  and  Hispellum  would  come 
near  to  rival  Verona,  not  as  it  was,  but 
as  it  is.  But,  after  all,  there  is  a  cer- 
tain perverse  turn  of  thought  which  is 
better  pleased  with  tracing  out  what 
has  been  than  with  simply  admiring 
what  still  is.  Spello  will  make  the  end 
of  a  mid-Italian  series  seen  after  the 
great  snow-tide  to  match  the  mid- 
French  series  seen  before  it.  Every- 
thing cannot  be  seen  in  one  journey. 
All  roads  lead  to  Rome ;  but  thirty- 
seven  days  are  enough  to  spend  on  any 
one  of  them.  From  the  colony  of  His- 
pellum then  we  must  hurry  on  to 
aurea  Roma  herself,  even  though  we 
have  to  rush  by  many  a  town  and 
fortress  on  its  hill-top,  by  Trevi  and 
Spoleto,  and,  proudest  of  all,  by 

.   .  .  that  grey  crag  where,  girt  with  towers, 
The  fortress  of  Nequinum  lowers 
O'er  the  pale  waves  of  Nar. 

VOL.  II.— S 


66  -fftal^. 

Marry,  Nami  is  somewhat ;  but  Rome 
is  more.  Rome,  too,  at  each  visit, 
presents  fresh  objects,  old  and  new. 
The  oldest  and  the  newest  seem  to 
have  come  together,  when  one  set  of 
placards  on  the  wall  invites  the  Roman 
people  to  meet  on  the  Capitol,  and 
when  the  Quaestor  Bacchus — it  is  tak- 
ing a  liberty  with  a  living  man  and 
magistrate,  but  we  cannot  help  lyatin- 
izing  the  Questore  Bacco — puts  out 
another  set  of  placards  to  forbid  the 
meeting.  We  are  inclined  to  turn  to 
others  among  our  memories,  to  others 
among  our  lays.  We  might  almost 
look  for  a  secession  ;  we  might  almost 
expect  to  see  once  more 

.  .  .  the  tents  which  in  old  time  whitened 
the  Sacred  Hill. 

But  those  who  were  forbidden  to  meet 
on  the  Capitol  did  not  secede  even  to 
the  Aventine  ;  the  secession  was  done 
within  doors,  in  the  Sala  Dante, 


\)cil 


T^HE  student  of  what  M.  Ampere 
*  calls  * '  L' Histoire  Romaine  a 
Rome ' '  must  take  care  not  to  confine 
his  studies  to  Rome  only.  The  local 
history  of  Rome — and  the  local  history 
of  Rome  is  no  small  part  of  the  oecu- 
menical history — is  not  fully  under- 
stood unless  we  fully  take  in  the  history 
and  position  of  the  elder  sites  among 
which  Rome  arose.  With  Rome  we 
must  compare  and  contrast  the  cities 
of  her  enemies  and  her  allies,  the  cities 
which  she  swept  away,  the  cities  which 
she  made  part  of  herself,  the  cities  which 
simply  withered  away  before  her.  And 
first  on  the  list  may  well  come  the  city 
which  was  before  all  others  the  rival 
67 


68  irtals- 

of  Rome,  and  where  she  did  indeed 
sweep  with  the  besom  of  destruction. 
A  short  journey  from  the  Flaminian 
Gate,  a  journey  through  a  country 
which  might  almost  pass  for  a  border 
shire  of  England,  with  the  heights  of 
Wales  in  the  distance,  brings  us  to  a 
city  which  has  utterly  perished,  where 
no  permanent  human  dwelling-place  is 
left  within  the  ancient  circuit.  In  a 
basin,  as  it  were,  unseen  until  we  are 
close  beneath  or  above  it,  hedged  in 
by  surrounding  hills  as  by  a  rampart, 
stands  all  that  is  left  of  the  first  great 
rival  of  Rome,  an  inland  Carthage  on 
the  soil  of  Etruria.  There  once  was 
Veii,  the  first  great  conquest  of  Rome, 
the  Italian  Troy,  round  whose  ten  years' 
siege  wonders  have  gathered  almost  as 
round  the  Achaian  warfare  by  the 
Hellespont.  There  are  no  monuments 
of  the  departed  life  of  Veii  such  as  are 
left  of  not  a  few  cities  which  have 
passed  out  of  the  list  of  living  things 


no  less  utterly.  Of  the  greatest  city 
of  southern  Etruria  nothing  remains 
beyond  a  site  which  can  never  be 
wiped  out  but  by  some  convulsion 
of  nature,  a  few  scraps  to  show  that 
man  once  dwelled  there,  and  tombs 
not  a  few  to  show  that  those  who 
dwelled  there  belonged  to  a  race 
with  whom  death  counted  for  more 
than  life. 

A  sight  of  the  spot  which  once  was 
Veii  makes  us  better  understand  some 
points  in  early  Italian  history.  We  see 
why  Veii  was  the  rival  of  Rome,  and 
why  she  was  the  unsuccessful  rival  of 
Rome.  Above  all,  we  understand  bet- 
ter than  anywhere  else  how  deep  must 
have  been  the  hatred  with  which  the 
^  old-established  cities  of  Italy  must  have 
I  looked  on  the  upstart  settlement  by  the 
Tiber,  which  grew  up  to  so  strange 
a  greatness  and  threatened  to  devour 
them  one  by  one.  Veii,  the  great 
border  city  of  Etruria,  was  the  only 


70  ftal^. 

one  among  Rome's  immediate  neigh- 
bours which  could  contend  with  her 
on  equal  terms.  Elsewhere,  in  her 
early  history,  Rome,  as  a  single  city, 
is  of  equal  weight  in  peace  or  war  with 
whole  confederations. 

The  happy  position  of  certain  hills 
by  the  Tiber  had  enabled  one  lucky 
group  of  lyatin  settlements  to  coalesce 
into  a  single  city  as  great  as  all  the 
others  put  together.  But  at  Veii  we 
see  the  marks  of  what  clearly  was  a 
great  city,  a  city  fully  equal  in  extent 
to  Rome.  And  when  the  ancient 
writers  tell  us  that,  in  riches  and  splen- 
dour, in  the  character  of  its  public  and 
private  buildings,  Veii  far  surpassed 
Rome,  it  is  only  what  we  should  expect 
from  a  great  and  ancient  Etruscan 
city  which  had  entered  on  the  stage 
of  decline  when  Rome  was  entering  on 
the  stage  of  youthful  greatness.  There 
was  little  fear  of  Veii  overthrowing 
Rome  ;  but  both  sides  must  have  felt 


IDeiu  71 

that  a  day  would  come  when  Rome 
would  be  very  likely  to  overthrow 
Veil.  Two  cities  so  great  and  so  near 
together  could  not  go  on  together. 
Two  cities,  very  great  according  to  the 
standard  of  those  times,  considerable 
according  even  to  a  modern  standard, 
cities  of  nations  differing  in  blood,  lan- 
guage, and  everthing  else  which  can 
keep  nations  asunder,  stood  so  near 
that  the  modern  inquirer  can  drive 
from  one  to  the  other,  spend  several 
hours  on  its  site,  and  drive  back  again, 
between  an  ordinary  breakfast  and  din- 
ner. Rivalry  and  bitter  hatred  were 
unavoidable.  Veii  must  have  felt  all 
the  deadly  grief  of  being  outstripped 
by  a  younger  rival,  while  Rome  must 
have  felt  that  Veii  was  the  great 
hindrance  to  any  advance  of  her  do- 
minion on  the  right  bank  of  her  own 
river.  No  form  of  alliance,  confedera- 
tion, or  dependence  was  possible ;  a 
death  struggle  must   come  sooner  or 


72  1ftali5. 

later  between  the  old  Etruscan  and  the 
newer  Latin  city. 

The  site  of  Veil  is  that  of  a  great 
city,  a  strong  city,  but  not  a  city  made, 
like  Rome,  for  rule.  We  go  far  and 
wide,  and  we  find  nothing  like  the 
"great  group  of  village  communities 
by  the  Tiber. ' '  Veii  is  not  a  group, 
and  she  has  no  Tiber.  The  city  stood 
high  on  the  rocks,  yet  it  can  hardly 
be  called  a  hill-city.  A  peninsular  site 
rises  above  the  steep  and  craggy  banks 
of  two  small  streams  which  make  up 
the  fateful  Cremera  ;  but  the  peninsula 
itself  is  nearly  a  table-land,  a  table-land 
surrounded  by  hills.  The  stream  sup- 
plied the  walls  with  an  admirable 
natural  fosse,  and  that  was  all.  The 
vast  space  enclosed  by  the  walls  makes 
us  naturally  ask  whether  the  city  could 
have  been  laid  out  on  so  great  a  scale 
from  the  beginning.  We  may  believe 
that,  as  in  so  many  cases,  the  arx, 
a  peninsula  within  a  peninsula,    was 


Veil  73 

the  original  city,  and  that  the  rest  was 
taken  in  afterwards.  But,  if  so,  it 
would  seem  as  if  it  must  have  been 
taken  in  at  a  blow,  as  if  Veii  took  a 
single  leap  from  littleness  to  greatness, 
unlike  the  gradual  growth  of  Rome 
or  Syracuse.  At  all  events,  there  is 
the  undoubted  extent  of  a  great  city,  a 
city  clearly  of  an  earlier  type  than 
Rome,  a  city  which  may  well  have 
reached  its  present  extent  while  Rome 
had  not  spread  beyond  the  Palatine. 
Such  a  site  marks  a  great  advance  on 
the  occupation  of  inaccessible  hill-tops  ; 
but  Veii  itself  must  have  seemed  an 
old-world  city  in  the  eyes  of  those  who 
had  the  highway  of  the  Tiber  below 
their  walls. 

It  is  strange  to  step  out  the  traces  of 
a  city  whose  position  and  extent  are 
so  unmistakably  marked,  but  of  which 
nothing  is  left  which  can  be  called  a 
building,  or  even  a  ruin.  The  most 
memorable  work  in  the  cimmti.ef-;Yeii 

CNIVEESITl  ; 


74  irtai^. 

is  a  work  not  of  building  but  of  boring 
— the  Ponte  Sodo,  hewn  in  the  rock 
for  the  better  passage  of  the  guardian 
stream.  Besides  these,  some  small 
fragments  of  the  Etruscan  wall,  the 
signs  of  a  double  gate,  some  masonry 
of  the  small  Roman  tower  which  in 
after  times  arose  within  the  forsaken 
walls,  are  pretty  well  all  that  remains 
of  the  life  of  Veii.  The  remains  of  its 
death  are  more  plentiful.  There  is  the 
Roman  columbarium,  within  the  Etrus- 
can site  ;  there  are  the  Etruscan  tombs 
bored  deep  in  all  the  surrounding  hills. 
There  is,  above  all,  the  famous  painted 
tomb,  shielding  no  such  sculptures  and 
inscriptions  as  those  on  which  we  gaze 
in  the  great  Volumnian  sepulchre,  but 
within  which  one  lucky  eye  was  privi- 
leged for  a  moment  to  see  the  Lucumo 
himself,  as  he  crumbled  away  at  the 
entrance  of  the  unaccustomed  air.  A 
scrap  or  two  of  his  harness  is  there 
still  ;  the  arms  are  there  ;  the  strange- 
shaped  beasts  are  there,  in  their  primi- 


vat  75 

tive  form  and  colouring  ;  the  guardian 
lions  keep  the  door ;  but  we  have  no 
written  aenigma  even  to  guess  at.  We 
can  only  feel  our  way  to  a  date  by 
marking  the  imperfect  attempt  at  an 
arch,  an  earlier  and  ruder  stage  by  far 
than  the  roof  of  Rome's  Tullianum  or 
its  fellow  at  Tusculum.  In  the  Vol- 
umnian  tomb  the  main  interest  comes 
from  the  fact  that  it  belongs  to  the 
very  latest  Etruscan  times,  to  the  tran- 
sition from  Etruscan  to  Roman  life. 
In  the  Veientine  tomb  the  main  interest 
comes  from  the  fact  that  it  cannot  be 
later  than  an  early  stage  in  Roman  his- 
tory, and  that  it  may  be  as  much  earlier 
as  we  choose  to  think  it.  It  is  the  same 
with  all  the  Httle  that  is  left  of  Veii. 
We  know  that,  except  the  palpable 
remains  of  the  Roman  miinicipium, 
nothing  can  be  later  than  B.C.  396,  and 
that  anything  may  be  vastly  earlier. 
In  the  history  of  Italy,  the  date  when 
Rome  doubled  her  territory  by  con- 
quering a  city  a  dozen  miles  from  her 


76  Htm* 

gates  passes  for  an  early  stage.  The 
life  of  Rome  is  still  before  her.  In 
Greece  at  the  same  date,  the  greatness 
of  Athens,  the  truest  greatness  of 
Sparta,  is  past  ;  the  only  fresh  life  that 
is  to  come  is  that  of  ephemeral  Thebes 
and  half- Hellenic  Macedonia. 

We  turn  from  Veii,  feeling  how  thor- 
oughly true  in  its  main  outline,  how 
utterly  untrustworthy  in  its  detail,  is 
what  passes  for  early  Roman  history. 
The  legend  of  Veii  counts  for  less  than 
the  legend  of  Troy,  inasmuch  as  inven- 
tion and  combination  are  hardly  gen- 
uine legend  at  all.  But  that  Veii  was 
and  is  not,  that  her  fall  was  the  rising 
point  in  Rome's  dCvStiny,  that  it  was 
needful  for  the  course  of  things  which 
has  stretched  from  that  day  to  this 
that  Veii  should  cease  to  be — all  this 
we  understand  ten  times  the  better 
when  we  turn  from  the  living  tale  of 
I^ivy  to  the  yet  more  living  witness  of 
the  forsaken  site. 


Jfl6en^* 


CROM  the  villa  of  the  White  Hens 
^  we  looked  across  to  the  arx  of 
Fidense  as  one  of  the  main  points  in 
the  view.  The  hill  of  Castel  Giubeleo 
seems  planted  there  by  the  hand  of 
nature  as  a  border- defence  of  I^atium 
against  Etruscan  attacks.  Yet  both 
strong  sites  and  other  things  some- 
times fail  to  discharge  the  exact  func- 
tions which  seem  to  have  been  laid 
upon  them  by  the  hand  of  nature. 
The  post  which  seems  designed  as  the 
lyatin  bulwark  against  the  Etruscan 
does,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  play  its  chief 
part  in  history  in  the  character  of 
an  Etruscan  outpost  on  I^atin  soil. 
Whether  Fidenae  was  really  such  an 
^  outpost  in  the  strict  sense,  whether  it 
77 


78  irtai^» 

was  a  remnant  of  the  wider  Etruscan 
dominion  of  the  days  when  the  Tiber 
was  not  a  border-stream,  or  whether  it 
was  a  Latin  town  which,  from  what- 
ever cause,  chose  to  throw  itself  on 
the  Etruscan  side,  it  is  not  only  as  the 
enemy  of  Rome,  but  as  the  ally  of 
Veii,  that  Fidenae  made  itself  memora- 
ble. If  we  accept  the  received  story, 
the  war  which  brought  about  the  ruin 
of  Fidense  was  caused  because  its 
people  slew  the  envoys  of  Rome  in 
obedience  to  the  hasty,  perhaps  mis- 
interpreted, words  of  a  Veientine  king. 
The  king  who  thus  took  so  little  heed 
of  the  law  of  nations  of  course  paid  his 
forfeit,  and  the  Royal  spoils  won  from 
Ivars  Tolumnius  by  Aulus  Cornelius 
Cossus  formed  one  of  the  most  cher- 
ished relics  of  the  early  days  of  Rome. 
We  may  believe  the  details  of  the 
story  or  not ;  but  the  spoils  at  least 
were  real,  if  the  witness  of  Augustus 
Caesar  is  to  be  believed. 


ffiDen^.  79 

Each  of  the  roads  which  lead  out  of 
Rome — since  the  railway  came,  there 
is  practically  only  one  way  which 
leads  into  Rome — has  its  own  special 
interest,  and  the  Salarian  way  is  cer- 
tainly not  inferior  to  the  Cassian  or 
the  Flaminian.  We  leave  the  city  by 
that  which  in  its  material  fabric  is  the 
most  modem,  which  in  its  associations 
is  perhaps  the  most  historic,  of  all  the 
gates  of  Rome.  The  Salarian  gate  in 
the  wall  of  Aurelian  may  be  looked  at 
as  in  some  sort  drawing  to  itself  the 
memories  of  the  neighbouring  Colline 
gate  in  the  wall  of  Servius.  He  who 
fought  before  the  Colline  gate,  he  who 
entered  by  the  Colline  gate,  could 
hardly  fail  to  march  over  the  ground 
where  in  the  new  system  of  defence  the 
Salarian  gate  was  to  arise.  The  Col- 
line gate  on  the  high  ground  of  the 
Quirinal  hill  was  the  weakest  point 
of  Rome  ;  it  was  therefore  specially 
strengthened  in   the  Servian  line  of 


8o  irtai^» 

defence.  It  was  the  point  by  which 
most  of  the  early  invaders  of  Rome 
marched  in  or  strove  to  march  in. 
There  the  revolted  troops  entered  to 
put  down  the  tyranny  of  the  decem- 
virs ;  there  the  Gauls  came  in  after 
the  slaughter  of  the  AUia  ;  to  that 
gate  Hannibal  drew  near,  and  those 
who  did  not  understand  Hannibal  said 
that  he  hurled  his  spear  over  it.  Be- 
fore the  Colline  gate  Rome  had  for  the 
last  time  to  struggle  for  the  dominion 
of  Italy  in  the  fight  between  Sulla 
and  Pontius  Telesinus.  And  when 
the  Colline  gate  had  given  way  to  the 
Salarian,  it  was  at  the  new  entrance  to 
Rome  that  the  enemy  came  in  whose 
coming  declared  that  her  political 
dominion  over  the  world  had  ceased, 
but  that  her  moral  dominion  was 
stronger  than  ever.  ' '  At  midnight 
the  Salarian  gate  was  silently  opened, 
and  the  inhabitants  were  awakened 
by  the  tremendous  sound  of  the  Gothic 


^ibcnx.  8i 

trumpet."  And  if  these  gates  were  a 
centre  of  fighting,  they  were  also,  in 
a  strange  and  special  way,  a  centre  of 
burying.  Along  this  road,  as  along 
others,  we  mark  the  broken  tombs 
here  and  there,  two  pre-eminently  just 
outside  the  present  gate ;  but  this 
quarter  supplies  one  strange  contrast 
in  the  matter  of  burials  which  is  not 
to  be  found  elsewhere.  Outside  the 
CoUine  gate  was  the  living  tomb  of 
unchaste  vestals  ;  not  far  beyond  the 
Salarian  we  come  to  the  Christian 
coemeterium  Priscillae.  We  go  on  ; 
we  descend  the  hill,  the  northern 
slope  of  the  Quirinal,  and  find  our- 
selves in  the  alluvial  ground  of  Tiber 
and  Anio.  We  have  now  come  near 
to  the  meeting  of  the  streams  ;  Anio 
is  spanned  by  a  bridge  which  at  first 
sight  might  seem  to  be  wholly  a  thing 
of  yesterday,  but  which  in  truth  has 
lived  and  gone  through  much  from 
the  earliest  times  to  the  latest.    Broken 


82  irtaii?. 

down  and  rebuilt  over  and  over  again, 
from  the  wars  of  Narses  to  those  of 
Garibaldi,  its  main  arch  is  indeed 
of  the  newest  workmanship  ;  but  if  we 
go  down  to  the  banks  we  see  the 
smaller  side  arches,  which  must  have 
been  ancient  when  they  were  crossed 
by  Hannibal,  perhaps  hardly  new 
when  they  were  crossed  by  Cossus. 
A  few  steps  further,  and  we  come  to 
another  record  of  change  ;  an  ancient 
tomb  has  grown  into  a  mediaeval 
tower  ;  the  mediaeval  tower  now  pro- 
claims itself  as  an  "osteria";  but  we 
feel  hardly  tempted  to  try  its  powers 
of  entertainment.  We  are  now  fairly 
in  the  low  ground  ;  the  hills  of  Rome 
lie  behind  us  ;  the  hills  beyond  Tiber 
which  skirt  the  Flaminian  way  rise  to 
our  left ;  the  hills  of  Fidenae  are  before 
us.  To  the  right  lies  the  ground  be- 
tween the  Salarian  and  the  Nomentane 
road  where  Phaon  had  his  villa  and 
where  his  master  Nero  came  by  his 


^lDcn^»  83 

end.  Presently  the  road,  and  its  com- 
panion the  railway,  pass  close  under 
hills  to  the  right  and,  at  one  point,  with 
Tiber  close  by  them  to  the  left.  A 
little  further  on  they  pass  between 
hills  on  either  side,  a  loftier  and 
isolated  height  to  the  left,  a  range  of 
lower  hills,  broken  by  more  than  one 
stream  and  its  valley  to  the  right.  We 
are  in  the  heart  of  forsaken  Fidense,  in 
the  pass  which  divides  its  soaring 
akropolis  by  the  river  from  the  body 
of  the  city  on  the  inland  side. 

The  arx  of  Fidense,  now  the  hill  of 
Castel  Giubeleo,  is  not,  indeed,  a 
height  like  that  of  Tusculum  or  that 
of  Cortona  ;  but  it  comes  nearer  to 
them  than  anything  to  be  found  at 
Veii  or  Rome.  A  bend  of  the  river 
leaves  a  rich  alluvial  flat  between  its 
bank  and  a  hill  which  on  that  side 
rises  steeply  enough.  Here  the  men 
of  the  faithless  Latin  city  could  look 
out  to  their  friends  beyond  the  river, 


84  Ktal^^ 

over  the  mouth  of  the  small  but 
famous  stream  of  Cremera,  over  the 
hills  on  either  side,  the  Fabian  out- 
post, the  future  home  of  Livia,  far 
away,  if  not  to  Veii  itself,  yet  to  points 
further  off  than  Veii.  The  view  from 
the  arx  of  Fidenae  and  the  view  from 
the  hill  of  lyivia  complete  one  another. 
Inland  we  see  Rome  on  its  hills  ;  but 
we  must  again  remark  that  when 
Fidenae  was,  Rome  sent  up  no  lofty 
towers  and  cupolas  to  mark  its  place 
against  the  horizon.  At  our  feet  we 
see  the  lower  hills  occupied  by  the  rest 
of  the  town,  surely  a  modern  settle- 
ment compared  with  the  original  arx. 
We  go  over  its  site  and  round  its  site, 
we  mark  its  tombs,  its  cloaca,  the  place 
where  its  gates  once  were.  The  walk 
in  the  valley  by  the  brook  between  the 
lower  hill  of  Fidenae  and  the  hill 
which  lies  between  Fidenae  and  Rome 
brings  the  features  of  the  place  well 
out.      It  was  no  small  gain  for  Veii  to 


have  such  a  confederate  on  Latin 
ground  as  the  strong  post  which  we 
are  compassing.  We  can  well  under- 
stand why  Rome  on  the  first  oppor- 
tunity swept  Fidense  utterly  away, 
while  the  existence  of  Veii  had  to  be 
endured  for  a  generation  longer. 

As  at  Veii,  so  at  Fidense,  the  traces 
of  the  living  are  gone — yet  more 
utterly  at  Fidenae  than  at  Veii.  The 
traces  of  the  dead  are  far  more  plen- 
tiful, though  Fidenae  has  nothing  to 
set  against  the  painted  tomb  of  Veii. 
The  city,  doubtless,  perished  after  the 
w^ar  in  which  Cossus  won  the  spoils 
of  Tolumnius.  Strabo  speaks  of  Fi- 
denae as  a  deserted  place,  the  posses- 
sion of  a  single  man.  Yet  the  potestas 
of  Fidenae — perhaps  its  dictator — may 
have  lingered  on,  as  such  dignitaries 
have  lingered  on  in  the  boroughs 
once  threatened  by  Sir  Charles  Dilke. 


Hntemna^* 


TT  is  one  of  the  amiable  features  of 
*  the  study  of  historical  topography 
that  its  votaries  are  so  easily  pleased. 
Two  places  may  have  equal  charms  on 
utterly  opposite  grounds.  The  merit 
of  one  city  is  that  it  has  lived  on  un- 
interruptedly from  the  earliest  times 
till  now.  The  merit  of  another  city  is 
that  it  ceased  to  live  at  all  many  ages 
back.  One  is  precious  because  it  con- 
tains a  series  of  monuments  of  all  ages. 
Another  is  equally  precious  because 
all  its  monuments  are  of  one  age.  A 
third  is  as  precious  as  either  because 
it  contains  no  monuments  at  all.  This 
last  kind  of  charm  may  seem  paradoxi- 
cal ;  but  it  will  be  acknowledged  by 
86 


Bntemna^.  87 


every  one  wlio  has  given  himself 
heartily  to  this  kind  of  research.  At 
Veil  and  at  Fidenae  the  great  merit  is 
that  there  is,  speaking  roughly,  noth- 
ing to  see  there  ;  in  truth  there  is  the 
more  to  see  because  there  is  nothing 
to  see.  No  doubt  Veii  and  Fidenae 
untouched,  as  they  stood  under  !Lars 
Tolumnius,  would  be  best  of  all ;  but 
we  set  that  aside  among  the  things 
which  it  is  no  use  hoping  for.  And  no 
doubt  if  we  found  the  sites  of  Veii 
and  Fidenae  full  of  Roman  and  medi- 
aeval monuments,  we  should  doubtless 
be  glad  to  see  them  ;  but,  as  they  are 
not  there,  we  are  still  more  glad  that 
they  are  away.  But  we  turn  from 
Veii  and  Fidenae  to  a  city  compared 
with  which  Veii  and  Fidenae  might 
seem  to  have  a  wealth  of  monuments. 
It  is,  after  all,  an  exaggeration  to  say 
that  nothing  is  left  of  Veii  or  of 
Fidenae.  The  sites  are  the  main 
things  ;  but  there  really  is  something 


88  irtal^, 

to  see  beside  the  sites.  But  there  is  a 
city,  at  least  the  site  of  a  city,  much 
nearer  to  Rome  than  either  of  them,  of 
which  the  great  charm  is  that  it  does 
not  contain  a  single  monument  of  any 
kind  or  date.  Here  we  can,  even 
more  truly  than  at  Veil  and  at  Fidenae, 
say  that  the  very  ruins  have  perished  ; 
but  it  is  just  because  the  very  ruins 
have  perished  yet  more  utterly  than 
elsewhere  that  the  spot  has  a  strong 
and  special  attraction  of  its  own. 

We  took  a  kind  of  Pisgah  view  of 
Antemnae  both  from  the  road  to  the 
White  Hens  and  from  the  road  to 
Fidenae.  As  we  before  said,  it  ought 
to  be  examined  as  one  of  the  objects 
on  this  last  road  ;  only  things  are  not 
always  as  they  ought  to  be.  We  must 
therefore  start  afresh  from  the  Flam- 
inian  gate  and  for  the  third  time  make 
our  way  to  the  Milvian  bridge.  This 
time  as  our  course  is  to  lead  us  to  one 
of  the  oldest  sites  in  Roman  history, 


Bntemnac. 


it  may  be  well,  by  way  of  contrast,  to 
let  the  bridge  call  up  thoughts  of  war- 
fare yet  later  than  that  of  Constantine. 
It  was  on  the  Roman  side  of  the  Mil- 
vian  bridge,  when  the  bridge  itself, 
which  he  had  fortified,  was  betrayed 
to  the  Gothic  enemy,  that  Belisarius, 
with  another  Maxentius  at  his  side, 
withstood  the  host  which  Witigis  had 
led  from  Narnia.  Readers  either  of 
Procopius  or  of  Gibbon  must  remem- 
ber how  every  dart  was  aimed  at  the 
bay  horse,  and  how  the  rider  of  the 
bay  horse  escaped  without  a  wound. 
This  time  we  keep  ourselves,  with 
Belisarius,  on  the  Roman  side  of  the 
bridge.  We  are  therefore  not  tempted 
to  have  our  thoughts  carried  oif  into 
quite  another  part  of  the  world  by 
the  statue  of  a  famous  Bohemian 
saint,  who  is  said  by  some  Bohemian 
scholars  to  be  a  purely  imagin- 
ary being.  Our  present  business  is 
not  with  Saint  John   Nepomuk,  not 


go  1ftali2- 

even  with  Belisarius  or  with  Constan- 
tine  ;  we  have  to  do  with  times  before 
Rome  was,  when  Tiber  still  parted  the 
free  Etruscan  from  the  free  Latin. 
We  walk  along  his  left  bank,  keeping 
within  the  bounds  of  lyatium,  but  with 
the  eye  tempted  at  every  moment  to 
look  across  to  the  opposite,  the  Etrus- 
can bank.  Both  banks  are  so  quiet, 
both  are  so  nearly  forsaken,  both  come 
so  easily  within  an  ordinary  walk  from 
our  Roman  quarters,  that  it  is  hard  to 
call  up  the  days  when  Tiber  was  the 
boundary  stream,  not  merely  of  separ- 
ate commonwealths,  not  merely  of  dis- 
tinct and  hostile  nations,  but  of  nations 
between  which  there  was  no  tie  of 
origin,  language,  or  religion.  To  be 
sold  beyond  the  Tiber  was  the  most 
frightful  of  all  dooms  which  spared 
life  and  limb.  If  the  debtor  were  sold 
to  Ardea  or  Tusculum,  he  might  win 
his  freedom  and  become  a  denizen  of  a 
city  of  his  own  speech.     To  sell  him 


'Bntcmnx,  91 


beyond  the  Tiber  was  like  handing 
him  over  to  bondage  among  Turks  or 
Moors.  But  our  path  keeps  us  on  the 
I<atin  side,  in  a  land  which,  when  it 
was  inhabited  at  all,  was  inhabited  by 
men  of  an  intelligible  speech.  We 
peer  under  a  rocky  cliff,  the  riverward 
slope  of  the  hill  which  rises  just  out- 
side the  Flaminian  Gate  of  Rome.  On 
that  hill  Witigis  held  his  headquarters 
when  Belisarius  and  Saint  Peter  be- 
tween them  guarded  the  Pincian.  But, 
we  ask,  why  did  not  some  city,  why 
did  not  Rome  itself,  arise  on  a  site 
which  seems  so  thoroughly  suited  for 
the  needs  of  an  ancient  settlement? 
But  we  have  to  go  further  for  what  we 
seek;  no  record  tells  of  any  settle- 
ment on  the  Monte  Parioli.  We  pass 
on  by  a  few  tombs  in  the  hill-side,  and 
we  more  distinctly  make  out  the  shape 
of  a  grassy  hill  parted  by  a  wide  allu- 
vial plain  from  the  river  on  the  eastern 
side  by  which  we  approach.     That  is 


92  1Ftal^. 

the  hill  of  Antemnae,  a  vanished  city 
whose  legendary  story  may  be  summed 
up  in  a  few  but  instructive  words. 
Antemnae  was  older  than  Rome.  It 
was  one  of  the  towns  whose  daughters 
supplied  objects  for  that  great  act  of 
what  our  forefathers  called  Quenfang, 
what  sociologists  called  exogamy, 
which  secured  that  the  Roman  State 
should  last  more  than  one  generation. 
War  follows ;  Rome  prevails  ;  Hersilia, 
wife  of  Romulus,  but  so  strangely 
mother  of  nobody,  pleads  for  the  con- 
quered, and  Antemnae  is  merged  in 
Rome.  We  may  be  sure  that  this  is 
the  genuine  story,  rather  than  others 
which  give  Antemnae  a  longer  life.  In 
sober  history  its  sole  record  seems  to 
be  that  in  Strabo's  day  the  town  had 
wholly  passed  away,  and  that  the  site 
was,  as  now,  like  Fidenae,  the  posses- 
sion of  a  single  man. 

The  story  in  Livy  is  well  imagined. 
The  city  whose  people  Romulus  spares 


Untcmnx.  93 


at  the  prayer  of  his  wife  has  a  spe- 
cially Roman  character.  Parted  as  the 
hill  is  from  the  Tiber  on  three  sides, 
its  northern  point,  the  point  of  a  rather 
long  promontory,  overhangs  the  river 
at  the  very  point  of  its  junction  with 
the  Anio.  Hence,  it  would  seem,  the 
descriptive  name  Antemnae,  the  town 
before  the  rivers.  Such  a  site  belongs 
to  the  same  class  as  the  hills  of  Rome. 
Less  isolated  than  the  Palatine  or  the 
Aventine,  it  is  as  much  isolated  as  the 
Capitoline  was  while  it  still  clave  to 
the  Quirinal.  Such  a  site,  with  a  de- 
scriptive name,  can  hardly  belong  to 
the  earliest  times ;  it  marks  the  same 
degree  of  progress  as  the  settlement  of 
Rome  itself.  Cut  off  as  it  was  from 
the  oldest  Rome  by  the  whole  of  the 
high  ground  within  and  without  the 
Roman  walls,  such  a  settlement  on  the 
river,  a  settlement  so  like  Rome  itself, 
might  well  be  felt  to  be  a  special  rival, 
a  rival  which  must  cease  to  exist  as  a 


94  irtal^. 

hostile  post,  but  whose  people  might 
well  be  incorporated  with  their  more 
successful  kinsfolk. 

Of  a  tale  placed  in  a  time  which  is 
purely  legendary,  the  utmost  that  we 
can  say  is  that  the  legend  falls  in  with 
the  appearances  of  the  site.  Antemnse 
has  utterly  perished;  there  is  not  a 
scrap  of  wall ;  some  stones  which  de- 
ceive the  eye  at  a  distance  prove,  on 
coming  near,  to  be  part  of  the  rock 
peeping  out  through  the  sides  of  the 
otherwise  green  hill.  We  believe  that 
no  antiquities  have  been  found  there. 
But  the  site  speaks  for  itself.  It  is  a 
manifest  fortress ;  the  gates  are  as 
plain  as  if  their  openings  were  spanned 
by  arches  like  those  of  Perugia  or 
Trier.  We  look  out  on  Fidenae  and 
its  surroundings,  on  the  old  battle- 
fields of  kings  and  consuls  and  em- 
perors ;  on  the  bridge  of  Narses  and 
Garibaldi,  on  the  line  of  march  which 
brought  the  Gaul,  the  Carthaginian, 


Bntemnje,  95 


the  Samnite,  and  the  Goth  to  the 
gates,  and  some  of  them  within  the 
gates,  of  Rome.  We  can  look  down 
on  nearly  the  whole  of  Roman  history 
from  the  site  where  once  stood  Virgil's 
"turrigerae  Antemnae."  But  we  are 
yet  farther  from  being  able  to  tell  the 
towers  thereof  than  we  were  at  Veil 
and  Fidenae.  At  Antemnse  the  ruins 
themselves  have  perished. 


©9tia. 


CROM  the  nearest  neighbours  and 
^  rivals  of  Rome,  from  the  slight 
remains  which  mark  the  sites  of  Veii 
and  Fidenae,  from  the  almost  more  in- 
structive lack  of  remains  which  marks 
the  site  of  Antemnae,  we  may  well 
pass  to  a  spot  which  lies  at  a  greater 
distance  from  Rome  than  any  of  them, 
but  which  never  was  Rome's  rival  or 
even  neighbour,  because  it  was  from 
the  beginning  simply  an  outlying  part 
of  Rome  itself.  This  is  the  forsaken 
haven  of  Rome  at  Ostia.  The  exist- 
ence of  Ostia  at  an  early  stage  of  the 
historic  being  of  Rome  is  no  small  sign 
of  what  Rome  already  was,  and  it  may 
well  have  had  no  small  share  in  making 
96 


©etfa.  97 

Rome  what  she  afterwards  was  to  be. 
For  an  inland  town  like  Rome  to  pos- 
sess a  haven  of  its  own,  existing  solely 
as  its  haven,  at  once  marked  and 
strengthened  the  difference  between 
Rome  and  other  inland  towns.  For 
Ostia,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  was 
the  haven  of  Rome  and  nothing  else. 
It  was  not  a  separate  maritime  city- 
made  into  the  haven  of  Rome  by  any 
process  of  conquest  or  confederation. 
Tradition  makes  Ostia  spring  into 
being  because  it  was  found  that  Rome 
needed  a  haven.  And  the  tradition 
has  nothing  to  contradict  it  and  all 
likelihood  to  support  it ;  the  name  of 
the  place  by  itself  might  almost  be 
accepted  as  proving  its  truth.  The 
foundation  of  Ostia,  too,  is  placed  in  a 
period  which  is  eminently  a  traditional, 
as  distinguished  from  a  legendary, 
period.  It  is  safer  not  to  rule  either 
that  there  was  a  personal  Ancus  Mar- 
cius  or  that  there  was  not;   but  we 

VOL.  II. — 7 


98  irtai^. 

may  be  pretty  sure  that  the  events 
assigned  to  his  reign  really  happened, 
if  we  can  only  keep  ourselves  from 
attempting  dates  where  there  is  no 
chronology.  Tradition  then  calls 
Ancus  the  founder  of  Ostia.  The 
really  important  point  is  that  whoever 
founded  Ostia  founded  it  purely  in  the 
interest  of  Rome,  and  that  in  an  age 
when  Rome  was  still  in  the  days  of 
her  early  growth. 

This  at  once  marks  a  wide  difference 
between  Rome  and  other  cities  of  that 
time.  Even  the  most  famous  of  the 
early  seats  of  maritime  enterprise  had 
the  port  separate  from  the  city,  later 
than  the  city.  Corinth  herself  had 
her  two  havens,  apart  alike  from  her 
mountain  citadel  and  from  the  vener- 
able columns  at  its  foot.  When  Cor- 
inth started  in  life  men  shrank  from 
the  close  neighbourhood  of  the  sea. 
It  marks  a  later  stage  when  Corinthian 
enterprise  planted  colonies  absolutely 


©0tta»  99 

in  the  sea — Syracuse  on  her  island, 
the  elder  Korkyra  on  her  peninsula. 
It  was  not  till  long  after  Ostia  had 
arisen  that  inland  Athens  yoked  her- 
self to  the  sea.  But,  as  the  site  of 
Rome  itself  on  the  broad  Tiber  showed 
that  men  had  even  then  learned  to 
understand  the  value  of  sites  widely 
different  from  Tusculum  on  her  height 
or  Veii  with  her  encircling  brooks,  so 
the  creation  of  Ostia  proves  yet  more. 
Rome,  far  more  distant  from  the  sea 
than  Corinth,  Megara,  or  even  Athens, 
had  already  learned  that  a  hold  on  the 
sea  was  needful  for  her  power.  There 
could  have  been  nothing  like  it  in 
Italy.  There  were  inland  cities  and 
there  were  maritime  cities  ;  but  there 
was  no  inland  city  which  had  put  forth 
a  maritime  outpost  at  such  a  distance. 
Indeed,  no  other  city  had  put  forth 
such  an  outpost  at  all,  maritime  or 
otherwise.  For  Ostia  was  not  a  colony, 
not  a  dependency.     It  had  no  separate 


loo  Iftal^. 

being  of  its  own.  It  was  a  limb  of 
Rome  transplanted  to  a  distance  of 
fifteen  Italian  miles  from  the  main 
body. 

Ostia,  then,  called  into  being  because 
Rome  stood  on  the  Tiber,  is  eminently 
a  child  of  the  Tiber.  But  Father  Tiber 
is  unluckily  one  of  those  fathers  who 
do  not  scruple  to  swallow  up  their  own 
children.  He  has  changed  his  course, 
and  he  has  changed  it  in  a  way  which 
is  not  a  little  dangerous  for  what  is 
still  left  of  Ostia.  The  diggings  which 
have  been  carried  on  by  the  Italian 
Government  are  most  praiseworthy, 
and  they  have  brought  to  light  much 
that  is  most  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive. But  streets,  storehouses,  temples, 
theatres,  will  in  vain  be  dug  out  if  the 
ravenous  river  god  is  to  gulp  them 
down  as  soon  as  they  are  well  dug  out. 
At  the  present  moment  one  street,  with 
its  pavement  laid  bare,  with  its  build- 
ings still  standing  on  each  side,  leads 


©0tta.  loi 

in  a  perilous  manner  into  the  stream. 
That  is  to  say,  one  end  is  gone  ;  the 
rest  will  soon  follow ;  the  pieces  of 
wall  nearest  to  the  stream  are  crumb- 
ling to  their  fall.  Surely  it  would  be 
well  to  imitate  in  the  haven  of  Ancus 
the  work  done  for  the  mother-city  by 
his  successor.  Fence  in  the  flood,  as 
the  elder  Tarquin  fenced  it  in  beside 
the  mouth  of  the  cloaca  maxima  ;  make 
a  strong  wall  of  defence  against  the 
waters,  and  the  remains  which  are  left 
of  Ostia  may  abide  as  long  as  the 
cloaca  maxima  itself. 

And  what  is  left  of  Ostia  is  indeed 
worth  preserving.  Only  a  small  part 
of  the  town  has  as  yet  been  dug  out ; 
but,  even  as  it  is,  Ostia  is  becoming  a 
fair  rival  to  Pompeii.  The  interest, 
indeed,  is  of  a  somewhat  different  kind 
in  the  two  places.  Pompeii  will  come 
first  with  the  artist  and  Ostia  with  the 
historian.  Nothing  of  any  moment 
ever    happened    at    Pompeii    except 


102  Iftali^. 

the  destruction  and  the  discovery  of 
Pompeii  itself.  But  a  great  deal  hap- 
pened at  Ostia,  and  that  at  widely- 
distant  dates.  It  is  perhaps  needless  to 
mention  that  one  thing  which  is  said 
to  have  happened  at  Ostia  never  hap- 
pened either  there  or  anywhere  else — 
namely,  destruction  by  the  Saracens  in 
the  fifth  century,  which  is  recorded 
indeed  in  Murray's  ''  Handbook,"  but 
which  was  certainly  unknown  to  Pro- 
copius.  Ostia,  destroyed  by  Marius, 
restored  by  Sulla,  was  failing  in  the 
days  of  Strabo  to  discharge  its  duty  as 
the  haven  of  Rome.  It  had  yielded 
to  the  same  enemy  which  afterwards 
overcame  Ravenna  and  Pisa ;  the  silt 
of  Father  Tiber  was  too  much  for  it. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  this  misfortune, 
notwithstanding  the  change  which  it 
led  to,  when  Claudius  found  it  needful 
to  transfer  the  harbour  of  Rome  to 
Portus  on  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
Ostia  contrived  to  live  on  through  all 


©9tta,  103 

disadvantages.  For  it  has  many  and 
great  buildings  later  than  Strabo  and 
Claudius,  among  them  an  Imperial 
house  with  graceful  columns,  which 
contains  the  famous  shrine  of  Mithras. 
There  is  abundant  evidence  that  all 
through  the  second  century  of  our 
sera  great  architectural  works  were 
carried  on  at  Ostia.  Besides  the 
palace,  there  is  the  great  central 
temple,  be  it  of  Jupiter  or  of  Vulcan, 
standing  so  proudly  on  its  steps. 
There  is  a  theatre  whose  columns 
and  inscriptions  supply  no  small  ma- 
terials for  study,  a  theatre  of  which 
it  might  be  too  much  to  say  that  it 
suggests  those  of  Orange  or  Taor- 
mina,  but  which  certainly  suggests 
that  of  Aries. 

In  the  sixth  century  Procopius  de- 
scribes Ostia  as  lacking  w^alls,  and  he 
complains  that  the  road  from  Ostia  to 
Rome  did  not  follow  the  course  of  the 
river,  and  was  therefore  useless  as  a 


104  irtai^. 

towing-path.  This  is  eminently  true 
still.  The  road  goes  through  scenery 
of  various  kinds,  some  rather  English- 
looking,  though  none  very  striking  ; 
the  Tiber  makes  a  far  less  important 
feature  than  we  might  have  looked 
for.  But,  if  Ostia  had  no  walls  in  the 
days  of  Belisarius,  it  had  no  lack  of 
walls  in  earlier  days.  The  most  inter- 
esting, from  one  point  of  view,  among 
the  ruins  of  Ostia  are  the  remains, 
forming  part  of  two  sides  of  a  square, 
of  the  primitive  wall,  a  dry  wall  of 
massive  stones,  belonging  no  doubt  to 
the  period  of  the  first  foundation. 
These  were  clearly  ruinous  when  the 
later  brick  buildings  were  reared  ; 
the  wall  was  broken  down,  and  men 
built  against  and  upon  it ;  they  plas- 
tered it ;  they  chamfered  its  stones  for 
the  convenience  of  plastering,  as  best 
suited  their  purpose.  The  flourishing 
town  of  the  second  century  may  well 
have  been  wall-less.     Rome  herself  at 


©6tta.  105 

that  date  had  no  defence.  The  wall 
of  Servius  had  ceased  to  serve  any 
military  purpose,  and  the  wall  of 
Aurelian  was  not  yet. 

The  history  of  Ostia  from  the  ninth 
century  onwards,  from  the  vain  at- 
tempt of  Gregory  the  Fourth  to  turn 
Ostia  into  Gregoriopolis,  belongs  to 
another,  though  almost  adjacent,  site. 
New  Ostia,  with  its  castle,  its  cathe- 
dral, its  gateway,  its  one  or  two  nar- 
row streets,  but  with  seemingly  hardly 
a  dozen  inhabitants,  is  a  sadder  sight 
than  old  Ostia,  with  no  inhabitant 
except  the  stalwart  custode,  who  de- 
fends himself  against  Ostian  air  by 
daily  doses  of  quinine.  Yet  the  castle 
of  Cardinal  Estouteville  ranks  high 
among  picturesque  fortresses  ;  the 
cathedral  shows  a  mixture  of  classical 
and  Gothic  detail  for  which  nothing 
in  Rome  prepares  us ;  fragments  of 
ancient  work  lie  around  ;  the  staircase 
of  the  bishop's  palace,  the  palace  of 


io6  1ftal^. 

the  first  among  cardinals,  is  rich  in 
ancient  inscriptions.  But  we  hasten 
on  to  the  older  site.  There  is  some- 
thing specially  striking  in  its  half- 
excavated  state.  We  tread  the  ancient 
pavement,  between  the  ancient  houses, 
of  a  street  dug  out  of  a  cornfield  on 
either  side.  The  wall  of  Ancus  loses 
itself  in  a  bank  of  earth.  Here  a  house, 
there  a  temple,  is  dug  out,  leaving  just 
space  enough  to  see  it  among  sur- 
rounding blades  of  corn.  At  Pompeii, 
too,  the  diggings  are  not  finished  ;  but 
there  one  part  is  dug,  another  is  not ; 
here  we  thread  our  way  along  what  is 
dug  with  the  far  greater  mass  of  the 
undug  to  right  and  left  of  us.  So  far 
we  are  content ;  the  undug  may  soon 
be  promoted  to  the  state  of  the  dug, 
and  Mother  Earth  is  a  safe  keeper  of 
antiquities.  It  is  otherwise  with 
Father  Tiber.  When  he  is  close  on 
one  side  of  us,  there  is,  as  our  guide 
truly  tells  us,  no  small  danger.     He 


©6tla.  107 

once,  as  Horace  witnesses,  set  forth  to 
destroy  the  monuments  of  Numa  at 
Rome  ;  he  is  clearly  minded  to  do  the 
like  by  the  monuments  of  Numa*s 
grandson  at  Ostia. 


XCbe  aiban  /iDount- 


\17"HAT  is  the  common  point  of 
^  ^  connexion  between  all  the  lands 
and  places  which  bear  the  name  of 
Alba,  Albania,  or  something  like  it? 
They  lie  so  far  apart,  they  are  in- 
habited by  people  of  such  utterly 
different  nations  and  languages,  that 
it  is  strange  if  there  be  any  point  of 
connexion  among  them,  while  it  is  at 
least  as  strange  if  the  name  has  settled 
down  on  so  many  remote  spots  by 
sheer  accident  only.  We  must  not 
forget  that  our  own  land  has  an  inter- 
est in  the  question  :  we  dwell  in  the 
Isle  of  Albion,  and  its  northern  part 
is  specially  Albanach  or  Albany.  An 
English  lady  living  on  the  eastern 
1 08 


ITbe  Blban  /Rbount.  109 


shore  of  the  Hadriatic  was  lately  com- 
plimented by  a  Scotch  lady  because, 
being  an  Albanian,  she  spoke  such 
good  English.  It  was  afterwards  sug- 
gested to  her  that  she  might  have 
answered  with  a  tu  quoque  or  some- 
thing more  ;  the  Englishwoman  was 
no  Albanian  ;  the  Scotchwoman  in  a 
certain  sense  was.  But  have  Alban- 
ians of  either  of  these  kinds  anything 
to  do  either  with  the  Duke  of  Alz^a — 
for  in  his  tongue  "  non  aliud  est 
z;iz^ere  quam  ^i^ere " — or  with  the 
Albania  beyond  the  Euxine?  Then 
again  it  is  singular  to  read,  say  in 
Dionysios  of  Halikarnassos,  the  local 
wars  of  Rome  and  Alba  Longa  de- 
scribed under  exactly  the  same  gentile 
names  as  those  by  which  Imperial 
Anna  describes  strife  between  the 
New  Rome  and  those  Ghegs  and 
Tosks  who  have  again  begun  to  make 
themselves  famous.  It  is  'Foofxaioi 
and  'AXfiavoi  in  both  cases,  without 


no  irtal^. 

the  change  of  jot  or  tittle.  In  this 
case,  at  least,  we  believe  that  philo- 
logers  would  deny  the  slightest 
kindred  between  the  names  ;  but  the 
casual  identity  is  thereby  only  made 
the  more  startling.  A  malicious  critic 
might  say  that  Anna's  Romans  were 
as  unlike  old  Romans  as  her  Albanians 
could  be  unlike  the  men  of  Alba 
Ivonga.  But  her  Romans  did  at  least 
claim  to  be  Romans,  sharers  in  the 
inheritance  of  the  wolf  and  the  eagle ; 
while  her  Albanians  certainly  laid  no 
claims  to  any  rights  in  the  Alban  sow 
and  her  thirty  pigs. 

Rome,  undutiful  daughter,  swept 
away  her  mother  city  so  thoroughly 
that  its  site  has  become  a  matter  of 
dispute.  But  the  name  lived  on  in 
derivative  forms.  Alba  perished,  but 
the  Alban  lake  and  the  Alban  mount 
kept  their  places,  to  play  no  small  part 
in  the  history  of  Rome.  There  is  the 
lake,  there  is  the  great  drain  for  its 


Cbe  Blban  /iRount 


waters,  so  strangely  interwoven  with 
the  tale  of  Veii.  There  is  the  mount, 
with  the  road  by  which  the  chariot  of 
Marcellus  went  up  in  triumph  ;  there 
are  still  the  displaced  stones  of  the 
temple  which  was  the  religious  centre 
of  the  lyatin  name.  But  for  the 
fanaticism  of  the  last  Stewart,  the  pil- 
lared front  of  the  Latin  Jupiter  might 
still  form  the  proudest  of  crowns  for 
the  height  on  which  the  gazer  from 
the  walls  of  Rome  fixes  his  eye  more 
commonly  than  on  any  other.  And, 
if  Alba  perished,  she  did  in  a  manner 
rise  again.  The  neighbourhood  of  dead 
Alba  became  as  favourite  a  quarter  for 
the  villas  of  Roman  nobles  as  the 
neighbourhood  of  living  Tusculum. 
There  the  great  Pompeius  had  a 
dwelling  ;  there,  according  to  one  ver- 
sion of  his  story,  his  body — or  perhaps 
only  his  head — found  a  stately  tomb, 
though  Hadrian  could  make  his  verse 
by  the  Alexandrian  Shore  to  say  that 


112  irtal^» 

no  tomb  had  \)een  found  for  him  who 
had  so  many  temples.  But  of  all 
villas  on  Alban  ground,  of  all  Albana, 
the  Albanum  of  the  Emperors,  with 
its  spacious  gardens,  its  long  terraces 
still  to  be  traced,  of  course  came  to  be 
the  greatest.  The  walled  station  of 
the  Imperial  guards,  the  fellow  of  the 
Praetorian  camp  at  Rome,  became  the 
kernel  of  a  new  town,  and  Albano 
still  exists,  an  episcopal  city,  seat  of  a 
cardinal-bishop,  and  it  still  keeps  its 
character  as  a  summer  retreat  for 
those  who,  now  as  of  old,  seek  to 
escape  the  smoke  and  wealth  and  noise 
of  lordly  Rome.  Albano  and  Alba 
stand  in  somewhat  the  same  relation  as 
Spalato  and  Salona.  In  both  cases 
the  new  city  grew  out  of  an  Imperial 
dwelling-place  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  old.  But  there  is  this  wide  differ- 
ence between  them,  that  Alba  has 
utterly  perished,  while  Salona  survives 
in  ample  ruins.     Alba  had  vanished 


^be  Blban  /Ibount.  113 


ages  and  ages  before  Albano  arose. 
Spalato  vStood  ready  to  be  a  city  of 
refuge  for  those  who  fled  from  Salona 
in  her  day  of  overthrow. 

The  town  of  Albano  itself  contains 
a  good  many  antiquities,  the  most 
prominent  among  which,  that  which 
greets  the  eye  on  the  entrance  from 
Rome,  is  the  huge  tower- like  pile,  so 
cruelly  stripped  of  its  hewn  stone, 
which,  truly  or  falsely,  passes  for  the 
tomb  of  Cnaeus  Pompeius  Magnus. 
More  striking  on  a  close  examination, 
though  spoiled  in  its  effect  by  a  Papal 
freak  of  restoration,  is  the  tomb  which 
hovers  between  the  names  of  Aruns 
son  of  Porsena  and  the  Horatii  and 
Curiatii.  Which  of  the  two  would 
Sir  George  I^ewis  have  looked  on  as 
the  more  impossible?  This  is  the 
tomb  which  so  singularly  forestalled 
the  outline  of  the  Glastonbury 
kitchen — before  its  chimneys  perished 
— and  thereby  of  the  Museum  labor- 


"4  IFtals* 

atory  at  Oxford.  A  good  deal  of  the 
wall  of  the  camp,  a  good  deal  of  an 
amphitheatre  on  the  hill-side,  and 
several  other  fragments  of  the  earlier 
Imperial  time,  are  still  to  be  seen. 
But  after  all  Albano  really  exists,  not 
for  its  own  sake,  but  as  a  starting- 
point  for  the  Alban  lake  and  the  Alban 
mount,  and  hardly  less  as  a  starting- 
point  for 

.  .  .  the  still  glassy  lake  that  sleeps 
Beneath  Aricia's  trees. 

Aricia  has  changed  its  site  ;  the  small 
modern  town  has  flown  up  to  the 
level  of  the  arx,  to  be  approached  by 
Albano  by  almost  the  only  work  on 
which  we  do  not  grudge  to  see  the 
name  of  Pius  IX.  The  viaduct  of 
that  "  Pontifex  Optimus  Maximus  " — 
his  votaries  seem  never  quite  to  dis- 
tinguish between  him  and  Jupiter — is 
really  a  work  worthy  of  Caesars  or 
consuls.     Below  it  new  Aricia  has  left 


^be  Blban  ^ount.  115 


the  elder  city,  its  fragments  of  walls 
and  of  the  Appian  Way,  to  be  sought 
for  in  the  valley  below,  the  crater,  so 
wise  men  tell  us,  of  an  extinct  vol- 
cano, the  biggest  surely  even  in  this 
region  where  craters  meet  us  at  every 
step.  Scraps  of  primaeval  wall,  hardly 
to  be  distinguished  from  the  rocks, 
prepare  us  for  what  we  are  to  see  at 
places  further  out  of  the  ordinary 
track  ;  walls  of  the  days  of  Sulla  join 
on  alike  to  what  we  have  seen  at 
Rome,  and  to  what  we  are  to  see  at 
Cori.  But,  after  all,  the  *' still  glassy 
lake  ' '  to  which  the  grove  of  the  ' '  rex 
nemorensis  ' '  has  given  the  name  of 
Nemi,  is  the  true  glory  of  Aricia. 
How  well  we  remember  being  puz- 
zled years  and  years  ago  with  the 
thrilling  run  of  the  lines — 

Those  trees  in  whose  dim  shadow 
The  ghastly  priest  doth  reign, 

The  priest  who  slew  the  slayer, 
And  shall  himself  be  slain. 


ii6  Utalis. 

In  these  days  the  fault  would  be 
held  to  lie  with  the  poet  for  venturing 
on  an  allusion  which  it  might  need  a 
little  research  to  take  in.  In  those 
days  we  thought  in  such  cases  that 
the  fault  lay  with  ourselves ;  we 
admired  without  understanding  till 
we  lighted  on  the  explanation  which 
enabled  us  to  understand  as  well.  As 
such  a  process  is  a  wholesome  one,  we 
will  leave  the  lines  without  comment ; 
not  to  speak  of  books  of  reference,  the 
story  will  be  found,  in  a  somewhat 
grotesque  form,  in  Dr.  Meri vale's 
chapter  on  the  reign  of  Caius,  better 
known  as  Caligula. 

The  ghastly  priest  has  gone  from 
Nemi ;  but  the  lake  is  there  still,  and 
the  successors  of  the  trees.  Access  is 
courteously  granted  by  the  present 
owner,  who,  we  may  believe,  has  never 
slain  anybody,  and  who,  we  hope, 
may  not  be  slain  himself.  But  though 
we  may  admire  Nemi  from  close  by, 


Zbc  Blban  /llbount.  117 


we  do  not  fully  understand  Nemi  and 
its  place  among  things,  till  we  can  look 
upon  it  in  company  with  its  greater 
fellow  of  Alba.  That  is,  we  must 
climb  the  Alban  mount,  or  a  good  part 
of  its  height.  But  we  go  first  to  the 
Alban  lake  itself ;  and  to  do  so  we  go 
along  its  rim  and  slide  down  the  side 
of  its  crater.  There  we  find  the 
emissarius,  so  deftly  cut  in  the  rock, 
and  which  has  done  its  work  so  well 
for  so  many  ages.  Who  made  it  ? 
Camillus,  or  some  one  long  before 
Camillus?  The  men  who  built  the 
great  cloaca  of  Rome  were  quite 
capable  of  cutting  the  hole  through 
the  rock  of  Alba,  without  any  mes- 
sage from  Delphi  or  any  design 
against  the  walls  of  Veil.  Whoever 
the  borer  was,  he  did  his  work  far 
more  thoroughly  than  Claudius  ages 
afterwards  did  his  for  the  Fucine  lake, 
which  work  it  has  been  left  for  the 
Torlonia  of   our  own  day  to  finish. 


ii8  1ftal^. 

i 

But  no  one,  we  may  suppose,  wished 
at  any  time  to  drain  the  Alban  lake, 
but  only  to  keep  it  in  order.  How 
needful  such  a  work  is  we  do  not  fully 
grasp  till  we  can  look  down  from 
above.  Then  we  take  in  the  strict 
accuracy  of  the  name  crater.  We  see 
the  two  lakes,  greater  and  smaller, 
side  by  side,  like  two  basins  in  the 
s-trictest  sense,  in  which,  at  some  time 
which  geologists  may  fix,  but  which  it 
is  enough  for  history  to  say  that  it  was 
long  before  the  oldest  primaeval  wall, 
the  powers  of  water  supplanted  those 
of  fire.  We  take  in  how  the  larger 
lake,  with  its  narrow  rim,  in  some 
parts  of  its  circuit  with  its  low  rim, 
liable  to  be  swollen,  but  with  no 
natural  outlet  for  its  waters,  might 
easily  come  to  overflow,  if  artificial 
means  had  not  been,  in  some  early 
time,  taken  to  check  it. 

But  when  we  have  wound  our  way 
by  the  rim  of  the  lake,  by  the  house 


Zbc  Blban  /Iftount*  119 


which  the  so-called  Prisoner  of  the 
Vatican  never  chooses  to  visit,  by  the 
rock  which  still  bears  his  name,  when 
we  have  crossed  the  so-called  fields  of 
Hannibal — yet  another  crater,  science 
tells  us — when  we  have  climbed  by  the 
triumphal  wa}^  to  the  height  of  Monte 
Cavo,  we  do  indeed  understand  the 
geography  and  history  of  Rome  and 
Latium  better  than  we  did  before.  The 
eye  may  range  over  the  height  of 
Tusculum  and  over  the  battle-ground 
of  Regillus  as  far  as  the  height  of 
Praeneste  ;  it  may  range  hither  and 
thither  over  many  points  which  have 
their  charm  both  of  history  and  of 
nature.  But  there  are  two  sides  to 
which  the  historical  eye  will  be 
attracted  before  all  others.  Such  a 
gazer  will  better  take  in  the  position 
of  Rome,  as  he  sees  it,  with  its  seven 
hills  shrunk  out  of  sight,  a  point — 
rather  a  line — in  the  Latin  plain,  with 
a  wall  of   Etruscan  hills   beyond   it. 


I20  HUl^, 

We  see  how  utterly  different  was  the 
position  of  Rome  from  the  position  of 
the  elder  cities  ;  we  see  how  she  lies  in 
the  midst,  at  the  very  meeting-place  of 
nations  ;  we  see  how  needful  for  her  it 
was  to  make  the  barrier  behind  her 
her  own  ;  and  we  understand  her  wars 
with  Veii  better  than  before.  But  we 
look  down  too  on  the  Latin  plain 
itself :  we  look  down,  we  believe,  on 
the  vanished  site  of  Rome's  mother  at 
our  feet ;  we  look  out  on  the  great  flat 
once  fringed  with  cities,  and  on  the 
great  and  wide  sea  beyond  it.  Here, 
standing  forth  as  an  advanced  post  of 
the  land,  we  see  where 

....   the  Witch's  Fortress 
O'erhangs  the  dark-blue  seas. 

And  beyond  Circeii  and  its  island 
satellites,  we  look  on  to  the  more 
distant  height,  in  so  many  ages  the 
boundary  height,  best  known  as  a 
height   by   the  name   of  Anxur,   but 


^be  Blban  /llbount. 


known  as  a  boundary  by  the  name  of 
Terracina.  When  we  think  how  early 
Rome  became  the  mistress,  not  only  of 
the  height  on  which  we  stand  and  of 
the  kindred  heights  around  it,  but  of 
that  long  coast-line  and  its  protecting 
heights,  we  feel  why  Rome,  so  early 
in  her  history,  had  to  enter  on  a  career 
of  wide-spreading  policy,  which  could 
never  have  suggested  itself  to  a  power 
seated  at  Veii  or  at  Prseneste.  Rome, 
on  her  great  river,  with  her  haven  at 
its  mouth,  with  her  long  line  of  sea- 
faring subjects  or  allies,  felt  from  a 
very  early  time  the  friendship  or 
enmity  of  the  great  powers  of  the 
sea  to  be  an  important  matter.  She 
had  to  dread  Etruscan  pirates  and 
Phoenician  traders  ;  the  Greek  of 
Cumae  might  perhaps  do  something 
more  against  her  than  merely  shelter 
her  tyrants.  We  may  believe  or  not 
in  the  connexion  between  the  Alban 
lake  and  the  fall  of  Veii,  but,  as  we 


UNIVERSIll 


122  irtal)^. 

look  one  way  from  beside  the  few 
stones  that  are  left  of  Jove's  loftiest 
temple,  we  understand  how  needful  it 
was  that  Juno  of  Veii  should  move  to 
Rome.  We  may  or  we  may  not  have 
the  camping-ground  of  Hannibal  be- 
hind us  ;  but  as  we  look  out  seawards 
we  believe  in  the  first  treaty  with 
Carthage ;  we  go  on  to  wonder  how 
things  had  turned  about,  when  Duilius 
and  Lutatius  could  break  the  Cartha- 
ginian power  by  sea,  and  when  Han- 
nibal could  make  his  way  into  Italy 
by  land. 


Cori* 


T^HERE  was  some  reason  in  the 
^  remark  made  by  Mr.  Creighton 
in  the  Academy  a  little  time  back,  that 
there  must  be  something  ' '  irritating 
to  the  Italians  of  the  present  date 
in  the  point  of  view  which  is  often 
adopted  by  English  writers  towards 
Italian  history."  "Their  cities,"  he 
said,  * '  which  are  still  instinct  with 
political  and  social  life,  are  regarded 
as  museums  of  curiosities,  which  serve 
to  awaken  picturesque  reminiscences 
in  the  mind  of  the  passing  tourist." 
Mr.  Creighton  was  speaking  of  Genoa, 
and  at  Genoa  and  in  cities  like  Genoa, 
what  he  says  may  be  perfectly  true. 
But  there  are  other  Italian  cities  where 
123 


124  Utal^. 

the  political  and  social  life  at  least 
hides  itself  from  the  passing  tourist, 
and  where  the  curiosity  with  which 
he  regards  the  city  is  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  the  curiosity  with  which 
the  inhabitants  of  the  city  seem  to 
regard  him.  The  curiosity  is  not 
specially  irritating ;  it  is  perhaps 
mixed  up  with  a  certain  open  craving 
after  soldi  which  nothing  short  of  the 
very  highest  civilization  can  get  rid 
of;  but  it  is  quite  distinct  from  the 
endless  touting  and  wearying  which 
the  traveller  has  to  undergo  in  places 
which  are  one  degree  more  advanced, 
or  which,  to  speak  more  civilly,  have 
fallen  less  far  back.  For  it  is  only 
civil  to  believe  of  cities  which  were 
once  independent  commonwealths, 
members  of  the  I^eague  of  the  Thirty 
Cities,  and,  therefore,  doubtless  in- 
stinct with  political  life,  that  they 
were,  at  least  two  or  three  milleniums 
back,  cleaner  than  they  are  now,  and 


CorU  125 

filled  with  inhabitants  who  had  some- 
thing more  to  do  than  their  successors 
seem  to  have.  But  the  interest  which 
the  novelty  of  the  stranger  awakens 
in  the  minds  of  the  present  inhabitants 
— far  keener,  it  would  seem,  than  the 
interest  which  the  antiquity  of  the  city 
awakens  in  his  mind — really  does  him 
no  harm.  The  modern  I^atins  or 
Volscians  come  and  look  ;  they  won- 
der ;  they  follow.  If  the  nature  of 
the  country  requires  that  the  strangers 
be  set  on  asses  and  mules,  the  curi- 
osity, as  is  only  natural,  reaches  its 
height.  The  asses  of  the  Prisci  I^atini 
or  of  their  Volscian  neighbours  are 
undoubtedly  grave  and  discreet  beasts  ; 
even  the  obstinacy  of  the  mule  is  a 
virtue  when  he  knows  the  way  so  much 
better  than  his  foreign  rider.  But 
there  is  something  grotesque  in  the 
way  of  going  ;  it  is  not  wonderful  if 
the  sight  gathers  together  a  crowd, 
if  the  travellers  find   themselves   the 


126  irtali^. 

centre,  not  exactly  of  triumph,  for  they 
are  not  drawn  in  a  chariot  ;  not  ex- 
actly of  an  ovation,  for  they  do  not  walk 
on  foot ;  but  of  a  not  ill-humoured 
procession  of  gazers,  it  may  even  be 
of  admirers. 

Something  of  this  kind  is  likely  to 
be  the  destiny,  at  some  point  at  least, 
of  those  who  wish  to  carry  out  the  full 
programme  of  the  right  wing  of  the 
Latin  host  of  Regillus  : 

Aricia,  Cora,  Norba, 
Velitrae,  with  the  might 
Of  Setia  and  of  Tusculum. 

Tusculum  they  will,  perhaps,  have 
made  the  object  of  a  separate  pilgrim- 
age ;  Aricia  belongs  to  the  following 
of  Jupiter  and  the  Alban  mount  ; 
"  Setia' s  purple  vineyards  "  it  may  be 
hard  to  take  into  the  line  of  march  ; 
but,  with  a  slight  change  of  order, 
^'Velitr^,  Cora,  Norba,"  with  the 
later  Ninfa  thrown  in  as  a  substitute 


CovU  127 

for  neglected  Setia,  will  form  an 
admirable  group,  a  day's  journey, 
which  those  who  have  made  it  will 
perhaps,  at  the  end  of  a  day  or  two, 
feel  sorry  that  they  have  not  cut  into 
two.  Velitrae — hardly  changed  in  the 
modern  Velletri — has  itself  but  little 
to  show  beyond  one  of  the  very  noblest 
bell- towers  of  the  second  Italian  period, 
where  the  pointed  arch  creeps  in,  a 
visitor  which  in  Italy  is  better  away, 
but  which  at  least  keeps  out  the 
vagaries  of  a  yet  later  time.  The  lie- 
of  the  town  is  good  ;  it  stands  well  on 
its  hill,  of  no  great  elevation  among 
its  brighter  neighbours.  Besides  the 
bell-tower,  it  has  little  to  show  in  the 
ecclesiastical  line,  save  only  the  eccen- 
tricity of  having  its  cathedral  church 
placed  as  if  we  were  in  Wales  instead 
of  in  Italy,  at  the  bottom  of  the  city  in- 
stead of  at  the  top.  One  or  two  ancient 
houses  and  modern  palaces  may  claim 
some    attention,    but    Velletri,    truly 


128  irtals* 

barren  in  Roman  remains,  cannot  be 
said  to  be  fruitful  in  those  of  mediaeval 
times.  The  chief  value  of  the  town  is 
as  a  starting-point — we  can  hardly  call 
it  centre — for  Cora,  Norba,  and  several 
other  of  its  ancient  fellows.  The  view 
from  Velletri  is  beyond  words.  We 
look  over  the  fertile  plain,  dying  away 
to  the  right  into  the  Pomptine  marshes, 
and  fenced  in  by  the  mighty  lime- 
stone bulwark  of  the  Volscian  moun- 
tains. To  the  right  of  all  the  height 
of  Anxur's  temple  looms  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  Circeii,  with  its  following  of 
islands,  rises  nearer  and  more  plainly, 
almost  itself  like  a  great  island,  re- 
minding the  visitor  from  the  West  of 
England  of  Brean  Down  and  the  Holms 
in  the  Severn  Sea.  But  the  njountains 
draw  the  eyes  towards  them  by  some- 
thing more  than  their  bright  masses, 
something  more  than  a  light  and  shade 
upon  their  sides.  Several  of  their 
strong  points  are  crowned  with  castles 


CorL  129 

and  whole  towns ;  and  one  point  so 
crowned  stands  out  as  the  centre  of  all. 
We  see  one  spur  of  the  mountain,  far 
lower  than  the  heights  beyond  it, 
crowned  by  a  little  city  coming  some 
way  down  its  sides,  with  a  tall  tower 
rising  well  from  the  midst  when  the 
sunlight  catches  it.  There  stands  one 
of  the  chief  objects  for  which  Velletri 
is  the  starting-point ;  there  we  have  to 
p     look  for — 

.  .  .  the  gigantic  watch-towers, 
No  work  of  earthly  men, 

Whence  Corals  sentinel's  o'erlook 
The  never-ending  fen. 

Watch-towers,  perhaps,  in  the  strictest 
sense,  we  do  not  see,  and  we  shall 
hardly  find  them  when  we  come 
nearer ;  but  Cora,  Corz,  still  keeps  the 
mightiest  of  walls,  which  it  was  no 
wonder  that  men  looked  on  as  too 
mighty  to  be  the  work  of  such  mortals 
— in  Homer's  phrase — as  we  now  are, 

VOL.   II. — 9 


I30  1ftal^. 

and  looked  on  them  as  reared  by  no 
hands  weaker  than  those  of  the  forgers 
of  Jove's  own  thunderbolts.  With 
Cori  we  enter  on  the  examination  of  a 
long  series  of  towns,  whose  main  fea- 
ture is  their  primaeval  walls,  and 
among  these  Cori  has  the  merit  of 
showing  us  the  walls  that  are  the 
most  primaeval  of  all.  None  of  its 
fellows  can  show  such  blocks  as  the 
mysterious  engineers,  whose  work  men 
love  to  call  Cyclopean,  piled  together 
in  the  lower  town  of  Cori,  just  outside 
what  is  now  the  gate  of  Ninfa.  Blocks 
indeed  of  equal  size  we  may  see  else- 
where, but  surely  none  of  equal  rude- 
ness. They  are  heaped  together  as 
they  w^ere  hewn  or  torn  away  from  their 
place  in  the  natural  rock  ;  huge  lime- 
stone blocks  of  every  size  and  shape, 
with  the  spaces  between  them  filled  up 
with  similar  stones  of  their  own  kind. 
But  the  whole  range  of  the  wall  of 
Cori  is  not  of  this  primitive  sort.    The 


Cori*  131 

curious  in  such  matters  distinguish 
five  epochs :  Cyclopean,  I^atin,  Old 
Roman,  Roman  of  Sulla's  day,  and — 
the  leap  is  a  great  one — mediaeval 
walls  of  the  time  of  King  Ladislaus  ; 
we  hardly  venture  to  give  an  Angevin 
king  of  the  hither  Sicily  the  full 
Slavonic  shape  which  marks  him  as 
sprung  from  the  other  side  of  Hadria. 
The  stones  of  the  first  four — we  have 
already  spoken  of  the  first  of  all — are 
all  polygonal,  of  distinguishing  degrees 
of  regularity  of  work  and  degrees  of 
size.  The  rudest  wall,  as  far  as  we 
saw,  of  all  is  to  be  found  quite  at  the 
bottom  ;  the  others  may  be  seen  side 
by  side  in  the  great  walls  of  the  arx 
which  soar  high  above  all,  and  which 
shelter  the  chief  ornament  of  Cori  in 
quite  another  department. 

According  to  the  nearly  invariable 
rule,  the  arx  of  Cora  contained  a 
temple,  and  the  temple,  as  so  often 
happens,    has    been    turned    into    a 


132  1Ftal^^ 

church.  But  the  change  has  been  less 
destructive  to  Cori  than  in  many  other 
places.  The  house  of  St.  Peter  has 
been  built  without  damaging  the  por- 
tico of  the  house  of  Hercules— the  old 
I^atin  Herculus  was  hopelessly  con- 
fused with  the  Herakles  of  Greek 
legend — and  still  keeps  the  columns 
of  his  portico,  both  on  its  front  and  its 
sides  ;  keeps  his  entablature,  his  ped- 
iment, the  gate-way  of  his  cella,  the 
inscription  which  records  the  work  of 
the  local  duumvirs,  Manlius  and  Ttir- 
pilius.  But  what  shall  we  say  to  the 
columns  themselves  ?  They  profess  to 
be  Doric,  even  to  be  Greek  Doric  ; 
but  they  have  bases ;  they  stand  as 
wide  apart  as  Etruscan  tradition 
planted  the  columns  of  the  Capitoline 
Jupiter ;  the  shafts  themselves,  in- 
stead of  being  as  massive  as  Psestum, 
are  slenderer  than  Nemea.  But  sin 
against  rule  as  it  may,  the  upper  tem- 
ple at  Cori  is  still  undoubtedly  pretty, 


Cori.  133 

to  say  the  least,  and  it  is  really  all  the 
more  interesting  because  of  its  sin 
against  rule.  Far  finer  in  themselves 
are  the  Corinthian  columns — such  as 
are  left — of  the  temple  of  the  Greek 
Twin  Brethren  lower  down  the  hill ; 
but  we  can  •  see  good  Corinthian 
columns  in  a  great  many  places  ;  the 
peculiarities  of  the  Hercules  temple 
are  special  to  Cori.  Do  they  not  speak 
of  the  Hellenizing  mind  of  the  great 
dictator  who  made  Cora  rise  again 
after  it  had  suffered  deeply  at  the 
hands  of  his  Marian  enemies  ?  Stern 
restorer  of  what  he  deemed  Rome's 
ancient  ways,  but  votary  and  favourite 
of  Hellenic  gods,  the  taste  of  Sulla 
might  well  lead  him  to  some  such 
forms  as  we  see  in  the  object,  yet  promi- 
nent from  many  points  of  view,  that 
crowns  the  height  of  the  citadel  of  Cora. 
But  we  have  not  gone  through  the 
full  tale  of  the  antiquities  of  this 
strange  little  mountain-city.     Outside 


134  irtals. 

the  Ninfa  gate,  spanning  at  a  vast 
height  the  deep  gorge  which  on  that 
side  forms  the  foss  of  Cori,  rises  a 
bridge,  of  days  which  we  call  ancient, 
but  which  we  are  tempted  to  call 
modern  so  near  to  the  Cyclopean  wall. 
Not  a  few  fragments  of  columns  may 
be  marked  here  and  there  in  the 
streets.  We  light  too  on  inscriptions. 
Besides  the  duumvirs — one  might  call 
them  the  bailiffs — of  the  Roman  Muni- 
cipium,  whose  names  are  carved  on 
the  frieze  of  Hercules,  another  com- 
memorates two  Praitors  ;  surely  these, 
with  their  archaic  spelling,  are  the 
abiding  magistrates  of  the  Latin  Com- 
monwealth— as  Cicero's  Milo  was 
dictator  of  lyanuvium — dependent  on 
Rome,  but  not  fully  incorporated  in 
her  substance.  Then,  besides  the 
chief  temple,  other  Pagan  buildings 
and  objects  have  been  turned  to  Chris- 
tian uses.  In  the  church  where  St. 
Peter    has    supplanted    Hercules,    an 


Cotl.  135 

altar,  if  altar  it  be,  bearing  rams  with 
horns  and  the  Gorgon's  head,  has  been 
hollowed  out  to  make  a  baptismal  font. 
The  church  of  St.  Oliva  bears  a  dedica- 
tion dating  only  from  the  sixteenth 
century  ;  but  it  is  a  lovely  cloister  of 
that  better  kind  of  Renaissance  which 
was  in  truth  only  a  falling  back  on 
Romanesque.  In  the  church  are 
memorials  of  earlier  times,  classical 
columns  used  again,  fitted  some  of 
them  with  capitals  of  the  very  rudest 
Romanesque,  whose  fellows  may  be 
found  in  Worcester  and  at  Hildesheim. 
Altogether  Cori  is  emphatically  a 
place  for  a  visit.  But  a  word  of  warn- 
ing must  be  given.  Cori  and  Norba 
cannot  be  combined  so  as  to  see  both 
worthily  in  a  single  day.  I^et  the 
traveller  either  make  two  distinct  out- 
ings from  Velletri,  or  let  him  take  his 
chance  of  sleeping  at  Cori ;  it  may  not 
be  a  worse  chance  than  sleeping  at 
Frosinone,  where  sleep  may  be  had. 


136  irtali?» 

Then  let  him  rise  up  early  in  the 
morning  and  saddle  his  ass,  or,  if 
able-bodied,  let  him  rather  make  his 
way  on  his  own  feet  along  the  moun- 
tain-path to  Norba. 


IRorba* 


\17E  will  suppose  that,  the  mutual 
"  ^  curiosity  of  natives  and  stran- 
gers having  been  fully  gratified  at  Cori, 
the  strangers  have  set  out  on  their 
way,  on  mule-back  or  otherwise.  The 
mountain-track  up  and  down,  skirting 
the  lower  heights  of  the  Volscian 
range,  opens  noble  views  of  the  higher 
mountains  inland,  of  the  wide  flat 
below,  and  •  of  the  sea  beyond.  But 
these  views  are  perhaps,  on  the  whole, 
better  enjoyed  when  the  traveller  has 
found  a  firm  foothold  within  "  Norba's 
ancient  wall ' '  than  while  he  has  per- 
sonal experience  how 

The  patient  ass,  up  flinty  paths, 
Plods  with  his  weary  load. 
137 


138  Iftali?. 

Still  worse  indeed  is  it  when  the  flinty 
paths  have  to  be  plodded  down,  and 
when  the  weary  load  needs  all  his 
theoretical  philosophy  to  persuade  him 
how  thoroughly  safe  he  really  is,  while 
the  weakness  of  the  flesh  surrounds 
the  descent  with  terrors  which  he 
knows  to  be  unreal.  At  last  the  ancient 
wall  rises  immediately  before  him ; 
the  hill-side,  a  small  height  straight 
above  the  path,  is  climbed  on  his  own 
feet,  and  he  can  presently  contemplate 
at  his  ease  both  the  wall  itself  and 
the  prospect  which  it  commands.  The 
last  part  of  the  ass-track  has  become  so 
like  a  lane  anywhere  else  that  we  are 
amazed  when  we  reach  the  other  side 
of  the  immediate  height  of  Norba,  and 
find  how  far  below  lies  the  plain  from 
w^hich  the  almost  perpendicular  cliffs 
spring  to  bear  up  the  forsaken  city. 
For  at  Norba  the  curiosity  will  be  al- 
most wholly  on  the  side  of  the  stranger; 
in  cannot  be  returned  in  kind,  as  at 


IRorba*  139 

Cori ;  a  lone  shepherd  or  two  may 
come  to  look  at  him  ;  he  cannot  bring 
together  the  least  approach  to  a  trium- 
phal procession.  For  within  the  wall 
all  is,  we  cannot  say  desolate  or  for- 
saken, for  the  crops  are  there,  full  and 
green — ''  segetes,  ubi'  Norba  fuW'' — 
but  the  ancient  circuit  is  at  least  empty 
of  all  dwelling-places  of  man.  We 
would  fain  believe  that  the  space  has 
stood  as  empty  as  it  now  does  ever 
since  the  people  of  Norba — less  wise, 
as  the  event  showed,  than  their  neigh- 
bours of  Cora — embraced  the  cause  of 
Marius  with  such  desperate  zeal  that 
they  slew  themselves  and  burned  their 
houses  rather  than  let  either  themselves 
or  their  goods  fall  into  the  hands  of 
Sulla.  This  inference  might  possibly 
be  rash  ;  for  the  ancient  wall  fences  in 
at  least  one  ruin  which  may  be  later 
than  the  days  of  the  fortunate  dictator. 
But  it  is  clear  that  Norba,  if  it  recov- 
ered   from    this    great    single    blow, 


I40  Iftali?. 

gradually  dwindled  away,  to  the  profit, 
first  of  Norma  by  its  side,  which  still 
abides,  and  of  Ninfa,  at  its  foot,  which 
has  perished  only  less  utterly  than 
Norba  itself. 

Cori  and  Norba  are  alike  cities  set 
on  hills,  and  neither  of  them  has  any 
fear  of  being  hid.  But  they  are  set  on 
hills  in  different  senses.  Cori  occupies 
the  upper  part  of  the  sloping  hill,  and 
the  houses  spread  down  the  slope. 
Norba  occupies  a  large  table-land  on 
the  edge  of  the  mountains,  and  its 
outer  wall  is  carried  along  the  upper 
rim  of  a  steep  and  lofty  cliff.  No 
dwellings  could  ever  have  spread  them- 
selves downwards  on  the  side  which 
looks  toward  the  marshes  and  the  sea. 
But  we  should  hardly  have  said  the 
outer  wall ;  for  the  height  was  so  care- 
fully fortified  that  outlying  defences 
were  placed  at  various  points  on  the 
side  of  the  cliff  wherever  the  primitive 
engineers  deemed  such  defences  need- 


florba*  141 

ful.  Within  the  circuit,  again,  the 
arx  rose  on  several  terraces  ;  its  high- 
est point — crowned,  we  may  believe, 
as  usual,  by  a  temple — must  have 
formed  a  proud  object  indeed  from  the 
vast  extent  of  land  and  sea  which  it 
looks  down  upon.  No  other  of  its 
ancient  neighbours  looks  down  so  im- 
mediately on  the  great  Pomptine  flat 
as  Norba  does,  as  none  looks  down 
from  so  great  a  height.  Cori  rather 
occupies  a  hill  thrown  out  in  front  of 
the  mountain  ;  Norba  sits  on  the  edge 
of  the  mountain  itself,  though  of  course 
at  a  much  lower  elevation  than  the 
huge  masses  further  inland.  The 
towers  and  temples  of  the  city  must 
have  had  a  wonderful  effect  from  the 
lands  below  ;  as  it  is,  there  is  nothing 
to  mark  the  place  but  the  line  of  wall 
itself,  which  does  not  always  stand  out 
in  a  very  marked  way  from  the  cliff. 
It  is  then  perhaps  in  some  sort  well 
that  the  later  Norma  has  taken  the 


142  irtali^. 

place  of  Norba.  On  the  hill  of  Norba 
we  see  that  Norma  and  Norba  by  no 
means  join  one  another  ;  there  is  a  gap 
between  them  which,  while  we  are  on 
the  mountain,  might  pass  for  a  valley. 
But  as  we  look  from  below,  the  wind- 
ing outline  of  the  hills  puts  this  gap 
out  of  sight,  and  Norma  and  Norba 
become  in  appearance  one  whole. 
Norma  looks  like  a  continuation  of 
Norba  ;  it  might  pass  for  its  still  in- 
habited part,  perhaps,  as  at  Syracuse 
and  Girgenti,  for  the  elder  stronghold 
within  which  the  city  had  again  shrunk 
up.  From  the  points  where  the  eye 
can  take  in  ruined  Ninfa  at  the  foot  of 
the  cliff,  and  the  further  town  of  Ser- 
moneta  crowning  a  hill-top  far  lower 
than  the  height  of  Norba,  the  whole 
grouping  is  wonderful.  The  view  from 
Norba  itself  takes  in  points  with  which 
we  have  become  familiar  since  we  first 
gazed  on  them  from  the  height  of  the 
I^atian  Jupiter.     But  we  see  them  in 


IRorba*  143 

new  groupings  and  new  proportions  ; 
the  islands,  prisons  for  dangerous  or 
discreditable  members  of  the  Imperial 
house,  stand  out  in  special  prominence 
in  front  of  the  Circsean  height  —  a 
height  so  nearly  cut  off  from  the  main- 
land that  it  seems  like  the  greatest  of 
the  island  group.  Nowhere  do  we 
better  understand  what  men  looked  on 
as  a  great  and  strong  city  in  days 
when  they  had  not  yet  learned  that 
an  element  of  truer  might  lurked  in 
what,  judged  by  the  standard  of  Norba, 
would  seem  a  mere  group  of  molehills 
by  the  yellow  Tiber. 

As  the  whole  city  lay  on  the  top  of 
the  hill,  the  space  taken  in  by  the  walls 
is  necessarily  greater  than  in  those 
towns  where  the  hill  stands  distinct, 
the  arx  alone  crowns  the  top,  and  where 
the  town  walls  are  placed  lower  down. 
The  nature  of  the  construction  adapts 
itself  to  the  needs  of  the  different  parts 
of  the  circuit.      The  mass  of  the  wall 


144  1Itali5» 

is  of  polygonal  stones,  rude,  but  far 
less  rude  than  the  rudest  at  Cori. 
Without  being  actually  laid  in  regular 
order,  they  have  a  certain  tendency  to 
fall  into  courses  as  it  were  of  them- 
selves, and  it  is  not  always  easy  to  tell 
how  far  the  roughness  of  the  stone  has 
been  from  the  beginning,  and  how  far 
it  is  due  to  the  action  of  the  weather 
on  stones  cut  perhaps  somewhat  less 
carefully  than  the  finer  stones  at  Cori. 
But  the  Norban  builders  could,  when 
it  was  worth  their  while,  do  something 
more  than  this.  They  could,  when 
they  had  to  make  a  corner,  put 
together  squared  stones  cut  with  a 
good  deal  of  exactness,  and  when  it 
was  convenient  that  a  corner  should  be 
rounded  off,  they  could  do  that  too  with 
equal  skill.  This  last  was  done  at 
the  greatest  gateway  looking  towards 
Norma.  Here  there  is  no  sign  of 
either  lintel,  arch,  or  attempt  at  arch, 
to  span  the  opening  ;  it  would  almost 


Morba.  145 

seem  that  the  gate  itself  was  simply 
placed  across  the  opening  with  nothing 
over  it,  much  as  at  Tusculum  the  gate 
was  hung  between  two  pieces  of  native 
rock.  That  the  arch  was  not  known 
to  the  first  builders  of  Norba,  but  that 
they  had  reached  the  stage  in  which 
men  began  as  it  were  to  stretch  forth 
their  hands  towards  that  great  inven- 
tion, is  shown  by  a  ruined  building 
— one  of  the  few  things  within  the  wall 
of  Norba  which  can  be  called  even  a 
ruined  building — a  little  way  beyond 
the  arx.  Here  we  have  a  distinct 
attempt  at  a  vault  for  the  roof ;  but  it 
is  not  the  apparent  cupola  of  Mykene 
and  New  Grange,  nor  the  apparent 
barrel- vault  of  Tusculum.  The  build- 
ing is  oblong,  and  the  attempted  arches 
rise  on  both  sides,  from  the  small  ones 
as  well  as  from  the  longer.  The  ruined 
state  of  the  building,  whatever  it  was, 
most  unluckily  hinders  us  from  seeing 
how  the  four  vaults,  so  to  call  them, 

VOL.  II.— 10 


146  Iftals^ 

were  made  to  meet  in  the  middle.  It 
must  have  been  a  strange  problem  in 
construction.  Hard  by  is  the  other 
building  at  which  we  have  already 
hinted  as  being  of  later  date.  It  has 
real  arches  and  masonry,  like  that 
which  at  Cori  is  attributed  to  Sulla's 
time.  But  it  may  as  well  come  before 
the  overthrow  of  Norba  in  his  day  as 
after  it. 

From  primaeval  and  forsaken  Norba 
we  go  down  the  hill-side,  learning  as 
we  go  how  high  Norba  stands,  to 
hardly  less  forsaken,  though  only 
mediaeval,  Ninfa.  Ninfa,  unlike  Norba, 
has  a  few  inhabitants  ;  there  is  a  house 
and  a  mill,  if  not  within  the  fortified 
enclosure,  at  least  just  outside  it,  and, 
if  the  enclosure  itself  contains  no  actual 
dwelling-places  of  man,  it  contains 
abundance  of  buildings  which  have 
once  been  so.  One  can  hardly  fancy 
a  greater  contrast  than  that  which 
strikes  us  between  the  stern  primaeval 


IRorba*  147 

wall  of  Norba,  fencing  in  the  thick- 
standing  corn,  and  the  wall  of  Ninfa, 
with  its  towers,  its  varied  and  pictur- 
esque outline,  fencing  in  a  crowd  of 
houses,  churches,  and  buildings  of 
every  kind,  the  oldest  of  which  could 
not  have  arisen  till  a  thousand  years 
after  Norba  became  desolate.  All  are 
now  forsaken,  roofless,  shattered,  form- 
ing one  of  the  most  singular  gatherings 
of  ruins  to  be  seen  anywhere,  the 
mummy,  as  it  has  been  well  called,  of 
a  dead  town.  Ninfa  was  once  a  place 
of  some  consequence,  which  played  its 
part  in  local  history  ;  perhaps  the  most 
notable  event  suggested  by  its  name  is 
that  here  Alexander  III.,  a  Pope  who 
had  so  much  to  do  with  our  own  his- 
tory, was  consecrated  after  his  famous 
disputed  election.  But  its  position  in 
the  deadly  flat,  close  by  a  stream,  led 
to  its  ruin  ;  the  malaria  was  too  much 
for  it,  and  Ninfa  ceased  to  be  reckoned 
among  the  cities  of  articulate-speaking 


148  irtali2» 

men.  Some  freak  might  restore  the 
greatness  of  Norba  ;  for  there  is  noth- 
ing to  hinder  men  living  there 
if  the  fancy  took  them  ;  they  cannot 
Hve  at  Ninfa  without  greater  changes 
than  a  Marius  or  a  Sulla  can  work. 
There  is  something  specially  striking 
in  a  town,  whose  remains  are  so  exten- 
sive, standing  so  utterly  desolate.  There 
is  something  Irish  in  the  look  of  things 
at  Ninfa,  as  indeed  there  is  in  the  look 
of  a  good  many  of  the  ruined  mediaeval 
sites  which  often  meet  us  in  this 
region.  It  is  not  merely  the  fact  of 
their  being  ruined,  though  there  is 
something  Irish  in  that ;  the  tall, 
slender  towers,  of  which  there  are 
many  both  at  Ninfa  and  elsewhere, 
have  a  real  likeness  to  many  buildings 
in  Ireland.  But,  though  the  general 
look  of  Ninfa  is  singularly  striking, 
there  is  less  to  be  learned  from  the 
particular  buildings  than  might  have 
been  looked  for.  They  are  spread  over 


IWorba,  149 

several  centuries,  some  of  the  houses 
reaching  even  into  Renaissance  times. 
The  church  of  most  pretension  lies 
without  the  walls  ;  several  within  them 
keep  their  apses  and  the  paintings  on 
them,  but  little  more.  The  whole 
is  a  wilderness  of  ruins,  strange,  im- 
pressive, but  hardly  venerable.  As  the 
ruin  of  a  town,  the  wreck  of  many 
buildings  crowded  close  together,  fallen 
Ninfa  has  little  of  the  solemnity  of  our 
own  ruined  castles  and  abbeys.  As 
for  the  elements  of  wonder  and  mys- 
tery, they  dwell  in  this  region  on  the 
hill-top,  among  the  mighty  masses  of 
stone  which  the  men  of  an  unrecorded 
age  piled  together  to  make  Norba. 


ScQnt 


TTHE  visitor  to  Segni  will  find  diffi- 
^  culties  in  studying  the  history  on 
the  spot  second  only  to  those  which  he 
finds  at  Norba.  It  is  quite  certain  that 
he  will  find  no  books  at  Norba,  save 
such  as  he  may  take  with  him,  which 
are  not  likely  to  be  many.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  there  may  be  books  at  Segni ; 
there  may  lurk  in  some  odd  corner 
erther  a  hidden  scholar  with  his  treas- 
ured library,  or  a  bookseller  of  that 
class,  sometimes  to  be  found  in  old- 
fashioned  places,  who  dislikes  nothing 
so  much  as  parting  with  his  books. 
But,  if  such  there  be,  they  do  not  force 
themselves  on  the  eye  on  one's  en- 
trance into  Segni.  A  natural  and  im- 
150 


QCQWL  151 

portant  question  is  sure  to  present 
itself,  and — without  wings  to  fly  at  once 
to  the  libraries  of  Rome — there  is  no  im- 
mediate means  of  answering  it.  Is  the 
name  of  Signia — now  by  a  very  slight 
change  Seg7zi—io  be  found  in  any  of 
the  lists  of  the  Thirty  Cities  of  Latium  ? 
The  lists  are  many,  and  the  traveller 
is  not  likely  to  carry  them  all  in  his 
head.  He  may  perhaps  be  able  to  re- 
peat the  lines  in  which  Macaulay  draws 
the  picture  of  many  of  them ;  and,  if 
so,  every  step  that  he  takes  among 
the  lyatin  cities  will  make  him  more 
fully  admire  the  fitness  and  force  of 
the  points  and  epithets  picked  out  in 
each  case.  But  at  Segni  the  Lay  of 
Regillus  fails  him  ;  he  has  his  quota- 
tions for  Cora  and  Norba ;  he  has  no 
quotations  for  Signia.  Still  Macaulay 's 
verses  are  not  a  full  or  formal  list  of 
the  cities;  while,  if  he  argues  that 
Signia  lies  too  much  in  the  heart  of  the 
Volscian  and  Hernican  land  to  have 


152  irtali2» 

belonged  to  the  Latin  name,  he  is  met 
by  the  fact  that  ' '  Ferentinum  of  the 
rock,"  yet  further  on,  has  its  place  in 
them  alongside  of  *'  Gabia  of  the  pool." 
He  turns  to  his  guide-book — and  the 
guide-book  of  Gsell-fels,  though  it 
sometimes  leaves  things  out,  is  almost 
always  to  be  trusted  for  what  it  puts 
in  ;  he  there  finds  only  the  entry  of 
the  alleged  Roman  colony  of  the  days 
of  the  Tarquins,  with  the  remark  that 
the  existing  walls  seem  to  point  to  an 
earlier  origin.  And  again  a  thought 
may  occur  to  him,  if  not  at  Segni 
itself,  yet  in  the  later  course  of  the 
journey  of  which  Segni  forms  a  part — 
Were  the  people  of  ancient  Signia 
specially  skilful  in  the  making  of 
mosaic  pavements  ?  There  is  a  kind 
of  work  called  opus  Signinum,  a  pat- 
tern of  black  spots  on  a  white  ground, 
of  which  there  is  a  good  deal  at 
Pompeii,  and  of  which  the  visitor  to 
Segni  will  most  likely  see  an  example 


QCQWU  153 

a  few  days  later  at  Anagni.  The  ques- 
tion is  hardly  so  exciting  as  the  ques- 
tion as  to  the  position  of  Signia  in  the 
days  of  the  I^atin  lycague.  But  it  is 
one  which  may  suggest  itself,  and  it  is 
one  which  it  will  be  hard  to  answer 
with  only  the  resources  which  are  to 
be  had  at  Segni  itself.  The  visitor  to 
Segni  is  thus  likely  to  find  himself  a 
little  uncomfortable  as  to  more  than 
one  point  in  the  history  of  the  place 
where  he  stands.  And  he  will  feel 
most  uncomfortable  of  all  as  to  the 
great  point  of  all  with  regard  to  its 
earliest  history.  Still,  he  may  for  the 
moment  comfort  himself  by  thinking 
that  there  are  those  who  might  be 
unkind  enough  to  hint  that  he  would 
still  be  equally  uncertain  if  he  had  a 
hundred  quotations  on  the  tip  of  his 
tongue,  or  if  he  were  in  a  library  with 
thousands  of  volumes  to  turn  to. 

But    whether   Signia    was    ever    a 
Thirty-city  or  not — we  may  be  allowed 


154  Utal^, 

to  follow  the  local  usage  of  Canterbury, 
which  speaks  of  "a  Six-preacher" — 
there  is  no  doubt  as  to  its  geographical 
position  ;  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  the 
grandeur  of  its  remains.  In  starting 
from  Velletri,  with  Algidus  and  its 
holm-oaks  and  its  memories  of  -^quian 
encampments  on  our  left  hand,  on  the 
right  we  turn  the  corner  of  the  Vol- 
scian  mountains,  and  the  railway 
carries  us  along  the  valley  between 
them  and  their  Hemican  rivals.  We 
reach  the  station  of  Segni ;  we  mark 
more  than  one  town  perched  on  the 
opposite  heights  ;  we  have  close  by  us, 
in  the  low  ground — reminding  us  of 
Ninfa  on  a  smaller  scale — the  walls  of 
a  forsaken  fortress,  with  a  shattered 
tower  of  wonderful  height  and  slender- 
ness ;  but  the  walls  of  Signia  still  keep 
themselves  hidden  among  the  moun- 
tains. It  is  not  from  the  side  of  Vel- 
letri, but,  as  we  afterwards  learn,  from 
the  side  of  Anagni,  that  Segni  on  its 


ScgnU  155 

mountain  height,  and  its  satellite  of 
Gavignano,  perched  on  a  smaller  de- 
tached hill  in  front,  form  striking  fea- 
tures in  the  landscape. 

Segni  belongs  to  the  same  class  of 
hill-fortress  as  Norba,  not  the  same 
class  as  Cori.  It  occupies,  not  the  top 
of  a  conical  hill,  but  a  table-land,  if 
we  may  apply  that  name  to  so  narrow 
a  space,  on  the  mountain  itself.  The 
distinction  is  well  marked  by  compar- 
ing it  with  Gavignano  just  below, 
which  is  one  of  the  chief  objects  in  the 
immediate  view  from  the  height  of 
Segni.  The  difference  is  just  the  same 
as  the  difference  between  Norba  and 
Sermoneta,  though  Gavignano  has 
more  the  air  of  being  an  outpost  of 
Segni  than  Sermoneta  has  of  being  an 
outpost  of  Norba.  The  hill-top  which 
Segni  crowns  is  long  and  narrow,  at 
some  points  very  narrow  indeed,  so  as 
to  give  to  the  space  within  the  walls 
nearly  the  shape  of  a  figure  of  eight. 


156  1Ftali2. 

The  space  within  is  neither  wholly 
forsaken,  as  at  Norba,  nor  all  crowd- 
ed with  dwellings,  as  at  Cori.  The 
modern  town  has  withdrawn  into  one 
quarter  of  the  old  enclosure  ;  but  it  has 
not,  as  in  so  many  other  cases,  with- 
drawn into  the  ancient  citadel.  The 
site  of  the  arx  of  Signia,  rising  but 
little  above  the  general  level  of  the 
hill-top,  but  placed  well  so  as  to  com- 
mand what  we  may  call  the  isthmus 
between  the  two  parts  of  the  town, 
forms  no  part  of  the  dwelling-place  of 
the  modern  Signians  ;  but  under  the 
name  of  Passegiata  it  does  form  part 
of  their  pleasure-ground.  The  modern 
town  has  retreated  into  the  other  loop 
of  the  figure  of  eight,  that  which  lies 
furthest  from  the  traveller  as  he 
draws  near  from  Velletri,  but  to 
which  the  course  of  the  road  will  neces- 
sarily take  him  first.  He  may  enter 
by  a  gateway  of  Roman  date,  and  if  he 
so  does  his  eye  will  soon  be  struck  by 


ScQnU  157 

the  great  number  of  graceful  fragments 
of  mediaeval  work  to  be  found  within 
the  narrow  streets  of  Segni.  The  town 
has  most  likely  been  for  ages  too  poor 
to  follow  the  example  of  its  richer 
neighbours  in  replacing  beauty  by  ugli- 
ness. But  he  will  do  better  to  keep 
for  a  while  from  entering  the  inhabited 
part  of  the  town.  I^et  him  first  make 
the  circuit  of  the  ancient  walls.  And 
he  can  hardly  doubt  whether  to  turn 
to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  left.  The 
claims  of  the  left  are  in  this  case  over- 
whelming. I/)ng  before  he  has  reached 
the  town,  he  must  have  seen  far  away 
on  the  hill  the  most  precious  of  the 
remains  of  Signia,  the  gateway  which 
stands,  forsaken  but  still  untouched, 
beckoning  him,  as  it  were,  to  make  his 
way  first  of  all  to  the  most  instructive 
thing  which  the  primaeval  city  has  to 
show  him. 

But  before  he  can  reach  either  the 
Roman  or  the  primaeval  gate  he  will 


158  irtai^. 

have  begun  to  notice  the  character  of 
the  wall.  The  construction  is  hardly 
so  rude  as  the  rudest  parts  of  the  wall 
at  Cori,  but  a  great  deal  of  it  belongs 
to  the  same  general  stage  of  engineer- 
ing progress.  The  huge  polygonal 
stones  are  heaped  together  ;  but  one 
might  note  perhaps  two  stages,  yet 
often  intermingled  —  one,  where  the 
sides  only  of  the  stones  are  cut  so  as  to 
fit  their  neighbours  ;  another,  where  the 
outer  faces  are  also  smoothed  of  what 
is  called  ' '  rustication ' '  in  late  Renais- 
sance work.  In  the  first  they  are  not 
left  so  utterly  in  a  state  of  nature  as 
they  are  at  Cori.  Their  sides  have  been 
cut  to  the  shape  which  was  thought 
best  for  the  work  of  piling  them  to- 
gether. In  a  later  stage,  also  seen  at 
Cori,  the  outer  sides,  those  which  stand 
free  from  the  scarped  wall,  are  also  cut  ; 
but  it  is  not  always  easy  to'  say  how 
much  of  the  change  of  the  surface  is 
due  to  art  and  how  much  to  weather. 


SegnL  159 

A.t  Segni  the  peculiar  shape  of  the 
enclosure  makes  it  somewhat  hard  to 
follow  the  line  of  the  walls  without  a 
ground-plan,  and  a  ground-plan  is  not 
to  be  had  at  Segni  merely  by  asking  for 
it.  But  it  is  plain  that,  in  many  parts 
at  least,  on  the  whole  side  of  the  hill 
which  lies  exposed  to  the  open  valley, 
and  on  the  head  of  the  whole  promon- 
tory, there  was,  whenever  the  ground 
allowed  and  required  it,  a  double  wall, 
one  on  the  edge  of  the  hill,  the  other 
at  some  distance  down  its  side.  The 
most  famous  of  the  gates  of  Segni, 
locally  known  as  Porta  Saracenesca, 
leads  from  the  outside  world  into  the 
outer  enclosure,  at  a  point  well 
chosen  for  military  purposes,  close  to 
the  edge,  and  commanding  the  path 
by  which  the  traveller  will  most  likely 
make  his  way  to  it.  And  a  mighty 
gate  it  is,  and  one  that  holds  no  small 
place  in  the  history  of  the  art  of  con- 
struction.    It  is  one  of  those  instances 


i6o  Iftal^. 

which  show  that  their  builders  were 
still  ignorant  of  the  principle  of  the 
arch,  but  that  they  were,  so  to  speak, 
in  search  of  it.  They  had  not  yet 
learned  how  to  make  the  top  of  an 
opening  out  of  stones  really  so  arranged 
as  to  stand  by  mutual  support ;  but 
they  were  striving  after  something 
beyond  the  mere  horizontal  lintel  rest- 
ing on  two  vertical  supports.  The 
builders  of  Segni  had  not  got  so  far  as 
those  of  Veii  or  Tusculum  ;  as  they 
had  no  idea  of  the  true  principle  of  the 
arch,  so  they  had  no  idea  of  its  form  ; 
all  they  could  do  was  to  place  two 
horizontal  stones  with  sides  sloping 
inwards  immediately  under  the  lintel. 
In  truth,  the  construction  is  still  purely 
that  of  the  lintel,  and  nothing  else  ;  but 
the  form  chosen  shows  a  certain  vain 
striving  after  something  different.  As 
such,  it  is  no  small  lesson  which  it 
teaches ;  and  the  effect  of  the  great 
stones  thus  piled  together  to  form  the 


SCQWU  I6l 

entrance  is  striking  and  solemn.  It 
carries  us  back  from  days  which  on 
our  side  of  the  Alps  we  deem  ancient, 
but  when  the  arts  of  construction  were 
as  well  known  as  they  are  now,  to 
days  when  men  were  making  the  first 
rude  attempts  towards  the  greatest  of 
constructive  inventions.  Attempts  of 
this  kind,  simply  because  they  are  mere 
attempts,  failures  and  not  successes, 
have  a  more  ancient  look  than  those 
examples  where  the  builders  were 
fully  satisfied  with  the  lintel  construc- 
tion and  attempted  no  other.  In  point 
of  fact,  whatever  their  relative  date, 
they  are  later  in  idea,  as  showing  a 
desire  to  innovate  on  the  received  form, 
some  instances  of  which  were  at  last 
crowned  with  success. 

It  is  not  easy  to  see  how  this  gate 
came  by  its  local  name.  One  can 
understand  the  process  of  thought  by 
which  the  roofing  at  Tusculum,  which 
has  the  outward  shape  of  the  pointed 


i62  irtali5» 

arch,  came  to  be  called  arco  Gotico ; 
it  is  harder  to  guess  why  the  great 
primaeval  gate  of  Segni  should  be 
attributed  to  Saracens.  It  is  far  from 
being  the  only  primaeval  gateway  in 
the  whole  circuit.  No  less  than  five 
have  been  counted  between  the  outer 
and  inner  walls,  and  two  more  in  the 
part  of  the  enclosure  occupied  by  the 
modem  town,  where  the  two  lines  of 
wall  coincide.  Hard  by  Porta  Saracen- 
esca  itself  is  a  small  sally-port ;  of  the 
others,  the  larger  ones,  like  Porta 
Saracenesca  itself,  stand  at  right  angles 
to  the  wall.  Some  of  them  at  least 
show  the  same  strivings  after  the  arch 
as  their  greater  neighbour.  The  nature 
of  the  ground  forbids  the  arx  from 
reaching  any  great  height  above  the 
rest  of  the  city  ;  but  its  place  is  easily 
marked.  It  contains  a  singular  large 
cistern  of  Roman  work,  and  close  by 
is  one  of  those  junctions  of  different 
ages  which  always  preach  to  us  a  liv- 


Scgnl  163 

ing  historic  lesson.  Here  is  the  terrace 
of  a  temple  wrought  with  stones  of 
the  primitive  construction.  On  this 
primitive  work  rise  the  remains  of  the 
cella  in  Roman  masonry,  and  the 
Roman  wall  of  the  cel/a  is  now  carried 
up  to  form  a  church.  Now,  at  least 
the  church  is  of  no  architectural  value, 
but  it  is  none  the  less  a  witness  to  the 
greatest  of  all  the  changes  which  the 
hoary  walls  of  Signia  have  looked 
upon. 

lyanded,  then,  in  Christian  Segni, 
we  may,  perhaps,  remember  that  one 
of  the  greatest  of  the  Popes  was  born 
either  in  the  town  itself  or  in  its  satel- 
lite of  Gavignano.  But  which  was 
the  actual  spot  ?  Our  one  guide  avail- 
able at  the  moment  seems  to  doubt 
between  the  two.  In  either  case  we 
see,  if  we  do  not  tread,  the  place  which 
gave  birth  to  the  third  and  greatest  of 
the  Innocents.  We  find,  too,  that  a 
Papal  palace  of  Segni  was  swept  away 


i64  Iftal^. 

by  the  Duke  of  Alva  in  that  strange 
war  which  the  Catholic  King  Philip 
waged,  not,  of  course,  against  the 
Vicar  of  St.  Peter,  but  against  the  tem- 
poral Sovereign  of  the  Roman  States. 
We  are  thus,  even  at  Segni,  plunged 
among  Papal  memories  ;  we  look  over 
the  valley  of  the  Trerus  across  to 
Anagni,  and  they  press  upon  us  with 
double  force.  We  hasten  to  the  spot 
where  a  lesser  Pope  than  Innocent,  but 
still  a  mighty  one,  died  like  a  dog  after 
his  fox-like  entrance  and  his  lion-like 
reign. 


liter  ab  Brunbisium. 
I.  Hnagni* 


LI  E  who  goes  steadily  from  Rome  to 
^  *  Brindisi,  seeing  what  comes  in 
his  way  by  the  easiest  manner  of 
going,  will  not  come  very  much 
oftener  on  the  track  of  Horace  and  his 
friends  than  he  to  whom  Brindisi  is 
the  haven  for  Egypt  or  India,  and 
who  rushes  thither  as  fast  as  he  can 
along  the  Italian  side  of  the  Hadriatic. 
The  three  routes  will  of  necessity  co- 
incide at  Bari.  To  Bari  the  traveller 
who  starts  from  Rome  must  add  Bene- 
vento,  and  he  may,  without  much 
trouble,  add  Aricia.  But  the  sites 
that  lie  around  the  Alban  mount,  the 
Alban  lake,  and  its  lesser  fellow— the 
165 


i66  irtal^. 

relics  in  short  of  so  many  volcanoes, 
wet  and  dry,  the  possible  place  of 
Alba,  the  more  certain  relics  of  its 
child  Albano,  the  path  by  which  the 
chariot  of  Marcellus  climbed  to  the 
temple  of  which  the  last  Stewart  swept 
away  what  time  had  left — all  these 
seem  naturally  to  form  a  group  and  a 
subject  by  themselves.  So  may  the 
objects  for  which  Velletri  supplies  the 
best  centre, — the  hill,  the  walls,  the 
temples  of  Cori,  ''Norba's  ancient 
wall,"  with  neither  an  inhabitant  nor 
an  habitation  within  it — Ninfa's  more 
modem  wall,  equally  without  an  in- 
habitant, but  with  ruined  habitations, 
ruined  churches,  in  abundance — all 
these  may  be  connected  with  an  iter 
ad  Brujidisium,  but  they  hardly  form 
an  actual  part  of  it.  Let  our  traveller 
design  to  start  in  modern  fashion  by 
railway — we  were  going  to  say  in 
prosaic  modern  fashion,  only  noway  of 
going  could  well  be  more  prosaic  than 


Bnaank  167 

that  followed  by  Horace  ;  let  him  study 
his  time-tables,  and  he  will  find  that  he 
can,  if  so  minded,  visit  Segni  and  go 
back  to  Rome  in  a  single  day  ;  he  can 
hardly  do  so  by  Anagni.  Not  that  we ' 
should  counsel  such  a  way  of  dealing 
with  the  walks,  the  gates,  the  temple- 
foundations,  that  crown  the  height  of 
Signia.  It  would  most  likely  be  found 
possible  to  sleep  at  Segni.  Gsell-fels, 
prince  of  guidebook-makers,  recom- 
mends the  locanda  there  as  ' '  reinlich 
und  eidlich,"  and  the  second  adjective 
does  not  mean  that  the  traveller  will 
be  in  any  danger  of  being  sworn  at. 
Still  some  may  be  more  inclined  to  go 
to  Segni  and  back  again  from  Velletri, 
where  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  living 
quite  happily  at  the  sign  of  the  Cock. 
Anagni,  Anagnia  of  the  Hernicans,  is 
the  beginning  of  something  new.  It 
is  the  first  point  distinctly  beyond  the 
neighbourhood  of  Rome.  It  is  not 
unlikely  then  that  such  a  traveller  as 


i68  fltnl^. 

we  have  supposed  may  make  Anagni 
his  first  halting-place.  And  at  Anagni 
he  may  certainly  rest  for  the  night, 
though  his  quarters  may  be  a  come- 
down not  only  from  Rome  but  from 
Velletri.  But  if,  by  any  chance,  he 
takes  the  earlier  points  in  some  other 
course  ;  above  all,  if  he  visits  Segni  by 
any  course,  he  will  be  all  the  more 
open  to  visit  Anagni.  The  city  of 
Boniface  VIII.,  almost  beckons  to  him 
to  cross  the  valley  and  the  stream. 
For  it  is  as  the  city  of  Boniface  VIII., 
the  place  where  he  so  strangely  met 
his  end,  the  prisoner — not  the  last 
Pope  who  was  fated  so  to  be — of  a 
French  ruler,  that  Anagni  will  most 
likely  present  itself  to  the  mind.  In 
mediaeval  history  Anagni  is  a  thorough- 
ly Papal  city,  and  to  this  day  it  keeps 
a  Papal  impress  on  its  buildings,  a 
Papal  impress  meaning  something 
different  at  Anagni  from  what  it  means 
at  Rome.     Anagni  did  not  remain  a 


Bnagni.  169 

favourite  Papal  dwelling-place ;  it 
Lherefore  did  not  suffer  at  the  hands 
of  Renaissance  Popes  as  Rome  lived  to 
suffer.  But,  even  in  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  hill-city,  we  may  well  go  back 
to  much  earlier  times.  We  may  re- 
member that  first  Pyrrhos,  then  Han- 
nibal, halted  thither,  each  on  his  vain 
march  towards  the  Rome  which  neither 
was  to  conquer.  And  when  we  have 
reached  Hannibal  and  Pyrrhos,  we 
may  go  back  to  earlier  ages.  There  is  ' 
a  point  of  view  in  which  Anagnia  is, 
before  all  things,  the  head  of  the  con- 
federation of  the  Hernicans.  There 
is  no  people  of  ancient  Italy  of  whom 
it  is  harder  to  get  any  distinct  idea 
than  this  stout  hill  folk.  In  treading 
Old-I^atin  or  Volscian  ground  we  can, 
even  without  book,  call  up  a  few  per- 
sonal names,  a  few  personal  figures, 
of  particular  Volscians  or  Old-Iyatins  ; 
we  cannot  ca^l  up  the  name  of  a  single 
Hernican,  historical  or  legendary.    All 


170  irtal^. 

that  we  know  of  them  is  their  geo- 
graphical position,  and  the  one  great 
event  in  their  political  history ;  and 
those  tell  us  a  great  deal.  They  must 
have  been  a  people  of  no  small  account 
whom  Spurius  Cassius  thought  worthy 
to  fill  the  third  place  in  the  great 
Triple  I^eague  along  with  Rome  and 
Latium.  And  this,  though,  as  having 
neither  one  great  city  like  Rome,  nor 
a  crowd  of  cities  like  I^atium,  they 
hardly  seem  to  form  a  power  on  the 
level  with  their  two  comrades.  But 
their  geographical  position  gave  them 
a  special  importance.  Thrust  in  as 
they  were  between  ^quians  and  Vol- 
scians,  no  alliance  could  be  more  prec- 
ious than  theirs  to  Rome  and  lyatium. 
They  were  the  most  exposed  member 
of  the  League,  the  outpost  of  Latium, 
as  Latium  itself  was  the  outpost  of 
Rome.  Of  all  the  three,  the  brunt 
of  the  struggle  must  hav.e  fallen  most 
fiercely  upon  them  ;  the  hills  of  An- 


Bna^ni.  171 

agni  must  have  looked  down  on  many 
a  fierce  struggle  with  the  invading 
occupants  of  the  opposite  range  of 
mountains.  The  walls  of  Anagni 
must  have  endured  or  yielded  to  many 
a  fierce  attack  of  their  ever-threatening 
neighbours.  As  we  look  out  from  one 
of  the  heights  of  this  region  to  another, 
we  better  understand  the  political 
relations  of  the  endless  little  com- 
munities which  thus  lived  on  in  one 
another's  sight.  The  ally  or  the 
enemy  was  close  at  the  door  ;  there 
was  not  even  any  need  to  climb  up  an 
akropolis  to  see  what  was  coming 
in  the  way  of  attack  or  deliverance. 
Rome  and  Veii  could  not  see  one 
another ;  between  them  therefore 
there  could  be  long  periods  of  simple 
peace,  without  warfare  and  without 
alliance.  Rome  and  Tusculum  could 
see  one  another  ;  but  they  were  not,  so 
to  speak,  ostentatiously  thrust  into 
one    another's    sight.     But  look   out 


172  ftal^^ 

from  Segni,  and  your  chief  business  is 
to  look  at  Anagni ;  look  out  from  An- 
agni,  and  your  chief  business  is  to  look 
either  at  Segni  or  at  Ferentino,  ac- 
cording to  which  way  you  are  looking. 
If  in  some  lights  the  long  circuit 
of  Segni  on  its  mountain-top  is  less 
clearly  seen,  the  lesser  hill  of  Gavig- 
nano  shows  itself  in  front  as  its  symbol 
or  substitute.  Cities  standing  in  this 
relation  to  one  another  could  not  fail 
to  be  either  bitter  enemies  or  close 
allies.  They  must  be  always  doing 
something  to  one  another  in  the  way 
either  of  friendship  or  of  enmity.  It 
was  then  no  small  stroke  of  policy 
when  Spurius  Cassius,  of  whom  it  has 
been  so  truly  said  that  he  was  the  first 
Roman  whose  greatness  is  really  his- 
torical, won  the  Hernican  land  and 
its  head  Anagnia  to  the  alliance  of 
Rome  and  Latium.  He  did  indeed 
put  a  bit  in  the  mouth  of  the  advanc- 
ing Volscian. 


Bnagni.  173 

We  come  then  to  Hernican  Anagnia, 
Papal  Anagni,  to  a  hill-city  girded  in 
by  mighty  walls.  The  hill  of  Anagni 
is  not,  like  the  hills  of  Segni  and 
Norba,  an  actual  piece  of  the  mountain 
itself;  it  is  a  hill,  an  isolated  hill,  a 
hill  so  large  that,  no  less  than  at  Segni 
and  Norba,  the  city  is  wholly  on  the 
height  ;  the  walls  merely  fence  in  the 
hill- top.  That  hill -top  is  in  some 
parts  wonderfully  narrow  ;  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  town  there  is  hardly  more 
than  the  width  of  the  chief  street  be- 
tween the  slopes  on  either  side.  And 
at  its  eastern  end  the  hill  rises  to  form 
a  truer  akropolis,  with  a  steeper  path 
up  to  it,  than  can  be  seen  at  Segni  or 
Norba.  Round  the  whole  of  this  space, 
allowing  for  some  late  patchings,  run 
the  ancient  walls  of  Anagnia,  and  a 
mighty  and  wonderful  work  they  are. 
But  who  built  them  ?  We  must  con- 
fess that  we  walked  round  about  them 
and,  as  we  thought,  marked  well  their 


174  irtai^» 

bulwarks,  in  the  full  belief  that  we 
were  studying  the  works  of  the  ancient 
Hernicans.  ]>t  no  one  fancy  that  we 
did  not  mark  the  difference  between 
the  walls  of  Anagnia  and  the  strange 
and  mysterious  forms  which  may  be 
seen  at  Cori  and  Segni.  The  walls  of 
Anagni  bring  us  back  within  the  or- 
dinary range  of  wall-building  as  prac- 
tised by  ordinary  mortals.  Hernican 
Anagnia  did  not  come  within  either 
Ivord  Macaulay's  Latin  or  his  Ktruscan 
catalogue  ;  but,  had  it  done  so,  there 
would  have  been  no  temptation  to 
speak  of  its  bulwarks  as  ' '  no  work  of 
earthly  men,''  or  as — 

Reared  by  the  hands  of  giants 
For  godlike  kings  of  old. 

The  walls  of  Anagni  are  wonderful 
only  as  the  great  works  of  Rome  are 
wonderful.  They  are  built  by  men  to 
whom  it  was  more  natural  to  put  to- 


Bna^ni.  175 

gether  rectangular  stones  with  some 
kind  of  regularity  than  it  was  to 
pile  together  huge  polygons  anyhow. 
They  were  built  by  men  who 
thoroughly  understood  the  principle 
of  the  arch,  and  knew  how  to  use  it 
with  all  boldness.  They  remain,  in 
various  degrees  of  preservation,  round 
the  greater  part  of  the  circuit  of  the 
town.  In  some  parts  they  are  broken 
down  altogether  ;  in  some  they  are 
supplanted,  in  others  merely  patched, 
by  walls  of  later  date  ;  in  short,  they 
have  gone  through  all  the  casualties 
which  a  wall  is  likely  to  go  through 
in  the  course  of  two  millenniums  or 
so ;  but  the  wall  of  modern  Anagni, 
as  a  whole,  is  still  the  old  wall  of  An- 
agnia.  The  construction  differs  a  good 
deal  in  different  parts  as  to  the  size 
of  the  stones  and  as  to  their  nature, 
and  as  to  the  degree  of  rudeness  or 
finish  in  the  work.  In  some  parts 
the  wall  stands  single  ;  in  others  it  is 


176  ftal^» 

strengthened  by  further  defences,  but- 
tresses rather  than  towers — defences, 
by-the-way,  which  must  be  carefully 
distinguished  from  the  additions  of 
later  times.  But  one  general  charac- 
ter reigns  throughout.  The  stones, 
greater  and  smaller,  smoother  and 
rougher,  are  always  rectangular,  and 
always  laid  with  some  measure  of  regu- 
larity. In  some  cases  ranges  of  larger 
and  smaller  stones  alternate  ;  in  one 
part  of  the  wall  stones  of  two  natures 
and  colours  almost  alternate.  The 
chief  material  is  a  light-coloured  stone 
exactly  like  the  puff-stone  of  Glouces- 
tershire, the  material  of  Berkeley  Cas- 
tle and  of  not  a  few  other  buildings 
in  that  neighbourhood.  This  is  eked 
out  here  and  there  by  the  dark  vol- 
canic peperino,  which,  towards  the 
south-eastern  part  of  the  wall,  is  used 
much  more  freely.  The  general  effect, 
wherever  the  wall  is  at  all  perfect,  is 


BnagnU  177 


statel}^  and  striking  in  the  extreme, 
both  in  form  and  colour. 

Now  was  it  only  a  dream  when  we 
tracked  out  these  walls,  and  took  a 
certain  pleasure  in  speaking  of  them 
as  Hernican  walls?  We  come  back 
to  our  library  ;  we  take  down  the 
Dictionary  of  Geography ;  we  turn  to 
the  article  ' '  Anagnia, ' '  and  we  find 
that  by  far  the  best  contributor  to  the 
series,  Mr.  E.  H.  Bunbury,  has 
another  tale  to  tell.  Our  feelings  are 
damped  when  he  says,  ' '  The  only 
remains  extant  there  are  of  Roman 
date  and  of  little  interest."  As  to  the 
' '  little  interest, ' '  we  venture  to  have 
our  own  opinion  in  any  case ;  we 
should  hold  that  so  great  an  extent 
of  ancient  wall  still  bounding  an  in- 
habited town  was  an  object  of  high 
interest,  even  if  it  could  be  shown  to 
belong  to  the  latest  days  which  could 
come  under  the  definition  of  ' '  Roman 


VOL.  II. 12 


date."  But  what  is  Roman  date? 
Mr.  Bunbury  sends  us  to  the  corre- 
spondence of  the  Emperor  Marcus 
with  CorneUus  Fronto.  We  hope  he 
does  not  ask  us  to  believe  that  the 
walls  are  later  than  the  days  of  the 
philosophic  Emperor.  For,  if  he  will 
allow  them  to  be  as  old  as  that,  we 
can  call  the  Emperor  himself  to  wit- 
ness that  they  must  be  a  good  deal 
older.  For  Marcus  himself  read  an 
inscription  over  one  of  the  gates,  ''Fla- 
men  same  samentumy  He  did  not 
know  what  ' '  sa?nentum  ' '  meant,  and 
we  cannot  find  the  word  in  our  Latin 
dictionary.  But  a  native  explained  to 
him  its  meaning  in  the  Hernican  lan- 
guage ;  it  meant  the  skin  of  the  victim 
which  the  flamen  put  on  his  head 
when  he  entered  the  town.  We  do 
not  want  to  be  unreasonable  in  our 
dates,  if  only  we  can  let  in  our  Her- 
nicans  at  some  comer.  When  we 
looked  at  the  walls,  we  saw  at  once 


Bna^nL  179 

that  they  had  no  fellowship  with  the 
primaeval  works  at  Cori  and  at  Segni ; 
they  did  seem  to  us  to  have  fellow- 
ship with  the  works  of  the  Tarquins 
at  Rome.  We  shall  be  quite  happy  if 
Mr.  Bunbury  will  allow  us  to  put  the 
walls  as  early  as  the  year  B.C.  307. 
The  next  year  Anagnia  sank  from  a 
Hemican  city,  a  free  ally  of  Rome, 
into  a  town  whose  people  were  bur- 
thened  with  Roman  citizenship  without 
the  Roman  franchise.  If  we  may 
carry  back  walls  over  whose  gates 
Hernican  inscriptions  could  be  read 
between  four  and  five  hundred  years 
later,  to  a  date  as  nearly  as  that,  we 
shall  have  done  all  that  we  could  wish. 
They  will  be  walls  of  the  days  of  Her- 
nican independence,  walls  on  which 
Hannibal  and  Pyrrhos  have  looked. 

One  thing  is  plain,  that  the  builders 
of  the  walls  of  Anagnia,  like  the  buil- 
ders of  the  cloaca  at  Rome,  but  most 
unlike  the  elder  builders  of  Cora  and 


i8o  ftali2» 

Signia,  knew  as  well  as  any  men  how 
to  turn  arches.  On  the  highest  point 
of  the  town,  by  the  modern  gate  which 
looks  out  towards  Ferentino,  within 
the  circuit  of  the  ancient  arx,  we  may 
still  see,  blocked,  partly  hidden  by  the 
modern  gate,  disguised  by  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  mediaeval  castle,  the 
double  gate  of  the  ancient  wall.  It 
is  perfectly  plain,  but  with  arches 
thoroughly  well  turned,  with  a  double 
range  of  voussoirs.  A  smaller  arch  of 
the  same  workmanship  beside  them 
looks  almost  as  if  it  had  been  blocked 
from  the  beginning.  The  arx  itself, 
it  should  be  remembered,  had  its  sepa- 
rate wall  within  that  of  the  city,  a 
noble  fragment  of  which,  of  exactly 
the  same  character  as  the  town  wall, 
is  still  to  be  seen  in  a  narrow  street  a 
little  lower  down. 

When  we  actually  reach  Anagni, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  charac- 
ter in  which  it  chiefly  strikes  us  is 


Bna^nt  i8i 

that  of  the  city  of  the  Hernican  walls, 
if  Hernican  walls  we  may  call  them. 
But  historically  Anagni  is  so  far  more 
famous  as  the  city  of  mediaeval  Popes 
that  it  is  fitting  that  it  should  have 
something  to  show  in  that  character 
also.  The  town  is  rich  in  mediaeval 
fragments.  The  main  street,  in  its 
winding  courses,  displays  long  ranges 
of  blocked  arcades,  round  and  pointed, 
which,  when  open,  must  have  given  it, 
narrow  and  often  dim  as  it  is,  no  small 
measure  of  stateliness.  Not  a  few 
buildings  stand  out  with  arches  of 
vast  height,  and  boldness,  suggesting, 
as  it  is  fit  that  one  papal  city  should 
suggest  to  another,  the  mighty  works 
of  Rome's  absent  Bishops  at  Avignon. 
Not  remarkable  for  height,  but  most 
remarkable  for  their  span,  are  the  ex- 
ceedingly bold  arches  which  support 
the  communal  palace,  once,  it  is  said, 
the  dwelling  of  the  Popes,  a  building 
which,  on  its  northern  side,  shows  a 


i82  1ftal^. 

range  of  windows  which  savour  of 
France  or  England  rather  than  of 
Italy.  The  houses  with  their  stair- 
cases often  present  highly  picturesque 
shapes,  which  in  one  house  in  the 
main  street,  where  the  outside  stair- 
case is  sheltered  by  two  arches  resting 
on  a  graceful  column,  grow  into  a 
form  of  genuine  beauty.  And  an  ele- 
gant form  of  double  window,  two 
round  arches  divided  by  a  slender 
shaft,  is  characteristic  of  the  architect- 
ure of  Anagni.  It  is  needless  to  add 
that  at  Anagni,  as  everywhere  else  in 
Italy,  most  of  these  relics  of  the  skill 
of  former  times  have  been  mercilessly 
disfigured  and  mutilated. 

In  the  ecclesiastical  line  the  other 
churches  supply  a  few  good  fragments 
of  the  same  character  as  those  in  the 
domestic  building  ;  but  the  cathedral 
church  within  the  arx  is  the  onl}^  one 
which  has  the  least  claim  to  be  looked 


Bnagnu  183 

on  as  a  striking  whole.  It  stands  boldly 
on  the  edge  of  the  hill  with  its  east 
end — that  is,  what  would  be  east  ac- 
cording to  northern  rules,  for  it  is  in 
truth  nearly  west — rising  up  nobly  with 
its  three  apses  in  good  Romanesque 
style,  while  a  stately  bell-tower  of  the 
more  massive  sort,  though  sadly 
marred  on  two  sides,  stands  near  the 
east  end  which  should  be  west.  The 
crypt  is  in  a  somewhat  ruder  form  of 
the  same  style.  The  whole  outside 
of  the  church  is  worth  study  ;  the  in- 
side is  of  an  early  and  massive  type  of 
the  Italian  Gothic,  always,  unless  in 
the  case  of  some  unusual  merit,  less 
satisfactory  than  Italian  Romanesque. 
The  sacristy  contains  the  vestments  of 
Innocent  III.  and  Boniface  VIII.,  and 
a  good  many  other  curious  objects. 
The  church  is  just  now  suffering 
restoration  ;  let  us  hope  that  nothing 
very  dreadful  will  happen  to  it.  There, 


i84  Iftali^. 

at  least,  seems  no  disposition  to  pull 
down  the  apse,  after  the  pattern  of  the 
church  which  Popes  and  Emperors 
alike  have  decreed  to  be  the  mother- 
church  of  Rome  and  of  the  world. 


II.  fcvcntino. 


TTAlyY  contains  two  places  bearing 
*  the  name  of  Ferentinum  or  Feren- 
tino,  as  England  contains  two  places 
— ^perhaps  more — bearing  the  several 
names  of  lyceds,  Stafford,  Birmingham, 
Hereford,  Cambridge,  Washington, 
Rochester,  and  others  more  obvious. 
And  as  the  Northumbrian  Rochester 
is  also  very  conveniently  written  jRut- 
chester,  so  the  Etruscan  Ferentinum  is 
also  conveniently  written  Ferentia.  On 
an  iter  ad  Brundisium  we  cannot  pos- 
sibly have  anything  to  do  with  Etrus- 
can Ferentia ;  our  business  lies  with 
that  Ferentinum  which,  according  to 
the  Itineraries,  was  to  be  found  on  the 
Via    Latina    between    Anagnia    and 

f    ^^         Of   TM( 

tJNIVERSITl 


$ll^WN^ 


/ 


i86  fftali?. 

Frusino,  and  which  is  to  be  found 
there  still.  But  if  the  name  of  the 
southern  Ferentinum  is  more  certain 
than  that  of  its  fellow,  its  ancient  na- 
tionality is  less  certain.  Its  historical 
position  is  Hernican  ;  it  lies  between 
Hernican  Anagnia  and  Hernican 
Frusino  ;  yet  it  is  also  spoken  of  as 
Volscian,  as  it  may  well  have  become 
in  the  endless  warfare  of  those  ever- 
shifting  nations.  Yet  it  is  in  other 
company  that  we  should  be  best  pleased 
to  find  it.  Our  earliest  remembrance 
of  the  name  places  ''  Ferentinum  of 
the  rock''  among  the  Thirty  Cities, 
and  gives  it  no  mean  place  among  them. 
We  go  to  the  spot  with  the  lines  ring- 
ing in  our  ears  which  place  its  warriors 
under  the  rule  of  proud  Tarquin  him- 
self, on  the  spot  where — 

...  in  the  centre  thickest 
Were  ranged  the  shields  of  foes, 

And  from  the  centre  loudest 
The  cry  of  battle  rose. 


ffcrentino,  187 


Yet,  even  without  book,  we  may  have 
been  a  little  surprised  both  to  find  a 
Thirty-city  so  far  in  the  heart  of  the 
Volscian  and  Hernican  hills,  and  to 
find  its  warriors  marshalled  along 
with  such  distant  comrades  as  Tibur 
and  Pedum  and  ' '  Gabii  of  the  pool. ' ' 
And,  when  we  come  back  to  our 
books,  a  horrible  thought  presses  it- 
self upon  us  more  and  more,  a  thought 
that  Ferentinum  may  have  no  right  to 
any  place  in  that  list  at  all.  The  name 
seems  to  be  I^ord  Macaulay's  guess — 
among  a  hundred  other  guesses — at 
the  manifestly  corrupt  name  which 
comes  next  before  Gabii  in  Dionysios' 
list  of  the  I^atin  cities.  Some  read  as 
near  to  our  mark  as  Fortinei ;  so  we 
may  hope  for  the  best ;  but  remember- 
ing where  Ferentinum  stands,  very  far 
from  Gabii,  we  confess  that  our  hopes 
are  small. 

In  obedience  to  the  Itinerary,  it  is 
from  Anagni  that  we  make  our  way 


i88  irtal^, 

to  Ferentino.  And  as  we  go  from 
Anagni  to  Ferentino,  we  better  take  in 
the  special  position  of  Anagni  on  the 
top  of  its  isolated  hill.  Till  we  have 
gone  some  little  distance,  we  are  hard- 
ly conscious  that  Anagni  is  there  at 
all ;  gradually  the  bell-tower  rises  into 
view,  and  the  rest  of  the  city  follows. 
A  few  miles  only  lead  us  from  the  hill 
of  Anagni  to  the  hill  of  Ferentino.  At 
the  first  glance  it  may  be  that  the 
spot  which  we  have  reached  does  not 
specially  strike  as  ' '  Ferentinum  of  the 
rock.''  It  does  not  seem  to  stand  on 
such  steep  cliffs  as  many  other  hill- 
fortresses,  Norba  pre-eminently  among 
them.  But,  when  we  begin  to  follow 
the  line  of  the  walls,  we  find  out  that, 
whether  I^ord  Macaulay  is  right  or 
wrong  in  speaking  of  Ferentinum  at 
all,  he  has  at  least  chosen  his  epithet 
wisely.  Ferentinum  is  Ferentinum  of 
the  rock.  Large  parts  of  the  wall 
stand  directly  on  vast  masses  of  rock, 


ffetenttno. 


and  sometimes  rock  and  wall  almost 
lose  themselves  in  one  another.  And 
the  walls  of  Ferentino  certainly  yield 
in  interest  to  none  of  our  series.  They 
are  still  standing  through  the  greater 
part  of  their  ancient  circuit,  and  for  the 
most  part  they  are  of  two  manifest 
dates,  differing  in  material  and  con- 
struction. There  is  an  original  lower 
part  of  the  wall,  built  of  huge  blocks 
of  lias  which  we  may  describe  as  rude, 
but  less  rude  than  the  rudest  work  at 
Cori.  The  height  to  which  this  earliest 
construction  of  all  reaches  differs  in 
different  parts,  but  it  has  in  most  parts 
been  patched  and  raised,  not  only  by 
later  repairs  of  all  manner  of  dates,  but 
long  before  then  by  a  construction 
of  very  respectable  antiquity,  which 
would  seem  venerable  if  it  were  not  for 
the  elder  and  more  massive  stones  be- 
neath it.  The  later  work  has  a  gen- 
eral likeness  to  the  walls  of  Anagnia 
both  in  construction  and  material,  and 


it  is  distinguished  from  the  more  primi- 
tive work  by  the  same  mark.  The 
pilers  of  the  elder  stones  had  no  notion 
of  the  arch  ;  the  builders  of  the  later 
wall  were  perfectly  familiar  with  it. 
The  only  complete  opening  of  the 
earlier  work  is  a  small  postern  with 
merely  inclined  sides  ;  but  in  one  of 
the  ancient  gates,  not  far  from  the 
modern  gate  by  which  the  visitor  is 
most  likely  to  enter,  stones  of  the  ear- 
lier date  support  an  arch  of  the  second 
date.  This  ancient  entrance  is,  as  usual, 
warily  placed  ;  the  giants,  or  whoever 
they  were,  from  the  days  of  Tiryns 
onwards,  knew  perfectly  well  how  to 
take  a  military  advantage  of  any  en- 
emy who  might  attack  their  strong- 
holds. Another  gate,  now  known  as 
Porta  Maggiore,  is  a  much  more  elab- 
orate work,  with  its  inner  and  outer 
arch  still  remaining.  Here  the  gate  is 
placed  with  great  skill,  advanced  in 
front  at  a  point  where  the  wall  turns 


fferentino*  191 


at  an  angle.  The  wall  may  be  followed, 
and  followed  to  great  advantage, 
through  the  more  part  of  its  circuit. 
One  hardly  knows  whether  to  count  it 
gain  or  loss  that  the  path  becomes 
most  difficult  just  at  the  point  where, 
through  large  later  repairs,  the  wall 
becomes  least  interesting.  When  we 
have  to  scramble — all  at  least  save  Alp- 
ine climbers — with  constant  thoughts 
for  the  safety  of  our  legs  and  feet,  we 
are  less  able  to  take  in  the  differences 
in  the  various  forms  of  construction,  or 
to  consider  the  dates  to  which  we  may 
be  inclined  to  refer  each.  In  the  more 
instructive  parts  of  the  walls  of  Feren- 
tino  no  such  necessity  is  laid  upon  us  ; 
they  may  be  studied  with  perfect  ease, 
and  the  outlook  from  the  various  points 
of  their  circuit  may  be  enjoyed  at  the 
same  time.  And  at  one  point,  not  far 
from  the  Porta  Maggiore,  it  will  be 
well  to  go  down  the  hill  a  little  way  to 
study  the  long  inscription  cut  in  the 


192  ftal^^ 

rock  in  honour  of  a  local  worthy  and 
magistrate,  Aulus  Quinctilius  by  name, 
who  seems  to  have  played  much  the 
same  part  at  Perentinum  in  pagan 
days  which  Sir  William  Harpur  played 
ages  later  at  Bedford.  He  founded 
everything  that,  according  to  the  no- 
tions of  his  day,  could  be  founded. 
Among  other  things  he  ordained  that 
thirty  bushels  of  nuts  should  be  yearly 
given  to  be  scrambled  for  by  the  boys 
of  Ferentinum,  without  distinction  of 
bond  or  free.  Now  is  the  will  of  this 
pious  founder  carried  out  ?  Are  there 
any  Italian  Charity  Commissioners  to 
look  into  these  matters,  and  to  see 
that  the  boys  get  their  nuts  ?  Or,  if 
the  scrambling  for  nuts  be  deemed  a 
nuisance — yet  many  well-remembered 
scraps  of  I^atin  plead  on  its  behalf- 
will  they  devise  a  scheme  for  the  better 
employment  of  the  funds  ?  Or  has  the 
benefaction  of  the  benevolent  Quinc- 
tilius, like   some   benefactions   nearer 


Jerentino.  193 


home,  been  lost  altogether?  Two  or 
three  years  ago  the  Times  was  filled 
with  letters  complaining  how  a  chari- 
table foundation  in  Somerset  had 
vanished  altogether,  and  how  the 
founder's  monument,  once  standing  in 
the  church,  had  been  buried  under  a 
neighbouring  barn.  In  one  point  at 
least  the  benevolent  Aulus  of  Feren- 
tinum  has  been  more  lucky.  When 
Ferentinum  had  quatuorviri,  they  did 
not  bury  people  in  their  temples,  still 
less  did  they  set  up  monuments  in 
their  temples  to  people  who  were  not 
buried  in  them.  So  the  monument 
which  commemorates  the  bounty  of 
Aulus  Quinctilius  stands  in  the  open 
air  clear  enough  to  be  seen,  well  fenced 
in  withal,  which  the  visitor  may  per- 
haps regret,  as  a  little  time  may  be 
wasted  in  searching  for  the  key.  But 
do  his  benefactions  go  on?  We  will 
not  hint  at  their  having  been  alienated 
by  Goths  or  Vandals,  by  East- Roman 

VOL  II.— 13 


194  irtai^. 

exarchs  or  Lombard  princes.  Can  we 
trust  the  really  dangerous  characters 
in  these  parts  of  the  world,  Popes, 
Popes'  nephews,  Roman  princes,  and 
Roman  cardinals,  who  pull  down 
buildings  and  steal  their  columns  to 
make  their  own  palaces  and  villas? 
Perhaps  some  of  them  may  have  swal- 
lowed up  the  funds  which  should  go  in 
nuts  to  the  boys  of  Ferentinum. 

We  have  been  writing  as  we 
dreamed  on  the  spot.  As  at  Anagni, 
we  wish — we  must  confess  the  weak- 
ness— to  see  independent  Hernicans 
wherever  we  can.  It  gives  us  therefore 
a  little  shock  when  we  come  back  and 
turn  to  our  books,  and  find  the  walls 
of  Hernican  Ferentinum  spoken  of, 
without  any  special  emotion,  as  ''  Ro- 
man.'* We  look  up  again  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  ask.  What  is  Roman  ?  At 
Ferentinum  the  word  certainly  means 
something  quite  different  from  what  it 
commonly  means  in  Britain  and  North- 


jfercntino,  195 


em  Gaul.  There  we  are  happy  if  we 
light  on  anything  earlier  than  the 
third  century  a.d.  Here  no  one  asks 
us  to  accept  any  date  later  than  Sulla  ; 
some  will  allow  us  to  go  as  far  back  as 
the  middle  of  the  second  century  B.C. 
We  are  allowed  to  think  that  the  walls 
of  Ferentinum  were  in  being  when  old 
Carthage  and  old  Corinth  were  still 
standing.  But  we  have  not  yet  got  to 
our  great  piece  of  evidence.  Ferentino 
contains  inscriptions  much  older  and 
more  important — though  about  the 
comparative  importance  some  might 
raise  a  doubt — than  Aulus  Quinctilius 
and  his  nuts.  But  we  must  get  to  them 
by  the  proper  road  ;  we  must  get  into 
what  once  was  the  arx,  what  is  now 
the  ecclesiastical  quarter.  Now,  at 
places  like  Ferentino,  ecclesiastical 
and  domestic  buildings  seem  like  some- 
thing kindly  thrown  into  the  bargain. 
We  go  to  look  at  walls,  not  at  churches 
or  houses ;  so  we  get  something  more 


196  "fftali^* 

than  we  asked  for  when  we  find  that 
Ferentino  contains  many  houses  which 
are  worth  at  least  a  glance,  and  several 
churches  which  are  worth  much  more 
than  a  glance.  Indeed  at  Ferentino 
the  study  of  walls  and  that  of  churches 
cannot  be  kept  asunder.  That  some 
of  the  great  stones  have  been  taken  to 
build  the  small  and  now  disused  church 
of  Saint  lyawrence  is  a  slight  matter. 
The  most  striking  feature  of  Ferentino 
in  any  distant  view  consists  of  the  mass 
of  buildings  which  is  formed  by  piling 
the  cathedral  church,  the  bell-tower, 
and  the  Bishop's  palace,  on  the  walls 
of  the  arx,  as  a  mighty  sub-structure. 
The  walls  of  the  arx  show  the  same 
two  dates  as  the  walls  of  the  tower. 
In  one  part  we  have  only  the  vast  rude 
stones  of  the  first  period ;  at  another 
part  they  support  the  upper  range  of 
the  second.  The  first  no  one  will  re- 
fuse to  our  Hernicans,  to  Hernicans 
older  than  Spurius  Cassius ;  but  how 


fferentino.  197 


about  the  second,  the  *'  Roman  "  date  ? 
This  is  claimed  in  several  inscriptions 
as  the  work  of  the  censors  Aulus 
Hirtius  and  Marcus  lyollius — censors, 
that  is,  not  of  Rome  but  of  Ferentinum. 
The  inscription  may  be  seen  in  the 
first  volume  of  the  great  Corpus  In- 
scriptionum  Latinarum,  p.  238,  and  its 
closer  likeness  is  given  at  fol.  Ixvii., 
Ixviii.  of  the  Priscae  Latinitatis  Monu- 
menta  Epigraphica.  Now  Aulus  Hir- 
tius and  Marcus  lyOllius  are  names  of 
a  frightfully  modern  sound,  suggesting 
well-known  persons  of  the  days  of 
Divus  Julius  and  Divus  Augustus. 
But  no  one  asks  us  to  think  of  them 
here,  though  we  may  likely  enough 
have  got  hold  of  the  Hernican  fore- 
fathers of  those  better-known  Romans. 
They  had  no  such  need  to  change  their 
names  and  the  alphabet  in  which  they 
are  written,  as  when  the  son  of  the 
Etruscan  Avle  Felimne  became  the 
Roman  Publius  Volumnius.    Now  our 


Hirtius  and  Ivollius  claim  to  have  built 
what  they  built  from  the  foundation  ; 
but  they  must  at  the  outside  only 
mean  that  they  built  the  later  work  on 
the  top  of  the  primaeval  wall.  And  to 
a  zealous  eye  even  the  work  of  Hirtius 
and  lyollius  has  an  archaic  look  about 
it.  There  are  no  columns  against  the 
wall,  as  in  the  Tabularium  of  Catulus 
at  Rome  ;  the  work  is  finished  with  a 
row  of  triglyphs,  not  unlike  those  on 
the  tomb  of  ' '  Cornelius  lyucius  Scipio 
Gnaivod  patre  prognatus.''  But  we 
need  not  go  back  quite  so  far  as  his 
day.  The  further  back  we  can  go  the 
better,  but  any  time  before  Sulla  will 
do.  The  history  of  Ferentinum  allows 
us  to  carry  our  Hernicans  of  Feren- 
tinum, like  our  Etruscans  of  Perusia, 
down  to  the  Social  War.  Ferentinum, 
it  must  be  remembered,  was  one  of 
those  Hernican  towns  which  were  true 
to  Rome  when  Anagnia  fought  against 
her.   What  follows  is  most  instructive. 


fctenxiwo,  199 


The  men  of  Ferentinum,  steady  allies 
of  Rome,  refused  the  proffered  reward 
of  Roman  citizenship,  and  chose  rather 
to  remain  a  distinct,  even  if  a  depend- 
ent, community.  That  is  to  say,  the 
old  Hernican  city  went  on,  as  long 
doubtless  as  to  the  days  of  the  Social 
War,  a  self-ordering  commonwealth, 
with  its  own  laws  and  magistrates — 
Aulus  Hirtius  and  Marcus  I^ollius 
among  them — subject  only  to  the  de- 
mands of  military  service  which  were 
needed  in  the  wars  of  Rome,  and  some- 
times perhaps  to  the  unlawful  excesses 
of  powerful  Romans. 

This  last  fact  comes  out  in  a  strange 
story  told  by  Aulus  Gellius  (x.  3).  It 
is  an  extract  from  a  speech  of  Gains 
Gracchus,  setting  forth  the  wrongs 
of  the  Italian  allies.  The  wife  of  a 
Roman  praetor  suddenly  wished  the 
public  baths  of  Ferentinum  to  be 
cleared  and  made  ready  for  herself. 
The  thing  was  not  done  so  fast  as  the 


200  fltali?, 

great  lady  wished  ;  so  her  husband 
bade  the  two  quaestors  of  the  town  to 
be  seized  ;  one  was  scourged,  the  other 
threw  himself  over  the  wall.  This 
tale,  told  in  the  words  of  Gracchus, 
proves  a  good  deal  as  to  the  arbitrary 
way  in  which  Roman  magistrates  are 
not  ashamed  to  deal  with  the  depend- 
ent cities  even  of  Italy,  whatever  might 
be  their  formal  relation  to  Rome. 

It  is  of  less  importance  that  Gellius 
casually  speaks  of  the  town  as  a  mu- 
nicipiurn,  while  lyivy  also  casually 
implies  its  possession  of  the  I^atin 
franchise.  Such  obiter  dicta  do  not  go 
for  very  much.  Scholars  sometimes  get 
astray  in  these  times  from  forgetting 
that,  not  only  casual  sayings,  but  even 
formal  documents,  may  sometimes  err. 
Thus  not  long  ago  we  saw  a  solemn 
paper  in  which  a  public  officer,  bound 
to  accuracy,  a  clerk  of  the  peace,  had 
to  describe  several  towns  in  the  West 


fferentino. 


of  England.  We  here  read  of  ' '  the 
county  of  the  city  of  Bristol,"  the 
' '  borough  of  Gloucester, ' '  the  ' '  bor- 
ough of  Bath,"  and  the  ''  borough  of 
Taunton."  An  inquirer  some  ages 
hence  might  be  misled  into  forgetting 
that  Bath  is  a  ' '  city  ' '  and  Gloucester 
even  a  "county  of  a  city."  May  we 
not  sometimes  get  wrong  about  muni- 
cipia  and  I^atin  colonies  from  the  same 
kind  of  cause  ?  Ferentinum  was  not, 
in  the  strict  sense,  a  municipium^  but 
an  allied  Hernican  commonwealth.  In 
the  like  sort,  we  once  saw  an  official 
document  from  a  high  sheriff  calling 
on  the  electors  of  a  county  to  elect, 
not  a  "knight  of  the  shire,"  as  they 
had  done  for  six  hundred  years,  but  a 
hitherto  unheard-of  being  called  a 
' '  member  of  Parliament. "  Is  it  not 
possible  then  that  lyivy,  and  even 
Cicero,  may  sometimes  use  a  wrong 
phrase  in  talking  of  tribes,  curiae,  and 


202  fital^. 

centuries,   in  ages  long    before    their 
own  day  ? 

The  walls  then,  though  called  ''  Ro- 
man "  in  a  vague  sense — that  is,  it 
would  seem,  simply  not  primaeval,  like 
those  of  Cori  and  Segni — are  doubtless 
Hemican  in  the  sense  of  being  built 
while  Ferentinum  was  still  a  separate 
Hernican  community.  The  walls  that 
we  see  are  most  likely  the  walls  over 
which  the  unlucky  quaestor  threw  him- 
self. The  walls  of  the  arXy  where  we 
read  the  legend  of  Hirtius  and  lyollius, 
connect  the  Hernican  town  with  later 
times.  Just  at  the  point  where  the  in- 
scription is  they  are  carried  up  to  form 
the  Bishop's  palace,  and  from  the 
middle  of  one  side  rises  the  bell-tower 
of  the  cathedral — a  very  good  example 
of  the  usual  Romanesque  type  of  such 
buildings.  The  church  of  Ferentino 
is  small  and  unpretending,  and  a  good 
deal  damaged  within,  but  it  still  keeps 
its  main  features,    not  only  its  bell- 


fferentino.  203 


tower,  but  its  west  front,  its  apses,  its 
ranges  of  windows.  A  little  restora- 
tion, in  the  true  sense  of  the  word, 
would  soon  make  it  into  as  good  a 
specimen  of  its  own  class  as  could  be 
needed.  But,  unless  we  altogether 
misunderstood  the  words  of  one  of  its 
own  clergy,  antiquity  and  simplicity 
are  not  esteemed  at  Ferentino.  The 
little  minster  is  convicted  of  the  crime 
of  being  old,  a  charge  which,  except 
by  comparison  with  the  walls  beneath 
it,  cannot  be  denied.  Only,  if  the 
church  be  an  offender  on  this  score, 
how  fearful  must  be  the  crime  of  the 
walls?  Unless  we  misunderstood  in 
the  most  amazing  way  what  we  heard 
with  our  own  ears,  the  church  of 
Ferentino,  convicted  of  the  crime  of 
old  age,  is  sentenced  to  destruction. 
A  new  church  is  actually  begun  ;  when 
it  is  finished  the  old  one  is  to  go. 
Happily  the  new  one  as  yet  stands 
still  for  want  of  funds ;    let  us  hope 


204  irtal^. 

that  funds  may  refuse  to  drop  in  till  a 
wiser  Bishop  and  Chapter  shall  rule 
at  Ferentino. 

The  church  at  Ferentino  is  dedicated 
to  Saint  Ambrose,  who  may  be  seen 
there  in  the  worldly  garb  of  the  un- 
baptized  prefect,  before  the  infant  voice 
greeted  him  as  Bishop  of  Milan.  And 
in  the  inner  buildings  ofth^arx — build- 
ings most  worthy  of  a  visit  on  their 
own  account — strange  tales  lurk  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  saint,  which  seem  to 
find  no  place  either  in  history  or  in 
received  legend.  Among  other  things 
he  was  thrown  into  a  boiling  caldron. 
Down  below  is  another  church  Sa7ita 
Maria  Maggiore,  some  centuries 
younger  than  the  cathedral,  and  a 
very  pretty  example  of  its  style  ;  which, 
as  far  as  we  know,  no  one  designs  to 
destroy.  Singularly  graceful,  but  sin- 
gularly un- Italian,  it  strikes  by  the 
power  of  contrast,  as  it  rises  above  the 
walls,  or  as  we  go  up  to  it  from  the 


jferentlno.  205 


gate  which  shares  its  surname.  A  few 
other  ecclesiastical  and  domestic  scraps 
may  also  be  picked  up  in  the  city  of 
the  rock.  The  primitive  remains  are 
the  great  object  in  all  these  places ; 
but  it  is  always  a  gain  when  the  walls 
shelter  something  which  has  an  inter- 
est of  another  kind.  The  walls  of  the 
stout-hearted  people  who  chose  rather 
to  be  citizens  of  Ferentinum  than  citi- 
zens of  Rome  lose  nothing  by  having 
been  turned  to  an  unlooked-for  use  as 
the  holy  places  of  their  successors,  per- 
haps descendants,  of  another  age  and 
another  creed. 


III.  matvU 


'X'HE  tale  of  those  Hernican  cities, 
*  fenced  in  with  primaeval  walls, 
among  which  we  have  been  lately  so- 
journing, is  worthily  brought  to  an 
end  at  Alatri.  Among  its  immediate 
Hernican  fellows  that  town  must  cer- 
tainly claim  the  highest  place ;  it 
might  on  some  grounds  claim  the 
highest  place,  even  if  we  throw  in 
Old-Iyatin  and  Volscian  rivals.  Yet  it 
is  the  one  which  has  the  least  history. 
There  is  very  little  to  say  about  it, 
except  that  Alatrium,  like  Ferentinum, 
was  faithful  to  Rome,  but  preferred 
to  keep  its  separate  Hernican  being 
rather  than  accept  the  proffered  reward 
of  Roman  citizenship.  It  therefore 
206 


Blatri.  207 

doubtless  remained  a  distinct  common- 
wealth down  to  the  Social  War.  And 
here  at  least  there  can  be  no  question 
about  dates.  Alatri  is  not  especially 
rich  in  mediaeval  antiquities  ;  it  has 
still  less  claim  to  be  called  rich  in 
Roman  antiquities.  Nor  does  it  sup- 
ply us  with  the  work  of  more  or  less 
Romanized  Hernicans,  like  the  cen- 
sors of  Ferentinum.  At  Alatri  nearly 
everything  that  we  care  about  is  strictly 
primaeval.  We  cannot  reasonably 
doubt  that  both  the  circuits  of  wall 
at  which  we  now  look  were  there  in 
the  days  of  Spurius  Cassius,  and  were 
by  no  means  new  then. 

Alatri  seems  to  have  been  somewhat 
of  an  out-of-the-way  place  in  all  ages. 
Not  lying  on  any  of  the  great  roads  of 
Italy,  it  has  no  place  in  the  Itineraries, 
and  now  it  lies  much  further  than 
Anagni  or  Ferentino — nay,  even  than 
Cori  and  Norba,  from  common  tracks 
of  going  and  from  the  common  haunts 


2o8  1ftali2. 

of  men.  Yet  it  cannot  be  looked  on 
as  seriously  inaccessible  ;  it  may  at 
least  be  reached  without  calling  in  the 
help  of  asses  and  mules.  The  party 
whose  track  we  are  now  following — a 
party,  be  it  noticed,  numbering  two 
ladies  among  them — reached  Alatri  in 
a  carriage  from  Frosinone,  having  slept 
there  after  seeing  Ferentino.  The  old 
Hernican  town  of  Frusino  had  scant 
justice  done  to  it  by  our  wayfarers ; 
as  no  man  or  book  had  pointed  it  out 
as  a  seat  of  primitive  walls,  it  was 
treated  merely  as  a  resting-place  be- 
tween the  wonders  of  Ferentino  and 
the  wonders  of  Alatri.  Frosinone  was 
slept  in,  but  was  not  examined  ;  yet  a 
glance  from  its  railway  station,  the 
point  which  connects  Alatri  with  the 
modern  world,  shows  that  it  at  least 
possesses  a  by  no  means  contemptible 
bell-tower.  From  Frosinone  then  our 
travellers  made  their  way  to  Alatri, 
and,  as  Alatri  gradually  rose  before 


Blatrl.  209 

them,  they  were  for  a  while  puzzled, 
perhaps  for  a  while  even  disappointed, 
with  what  they  saw.  But  it  was  not 
for  lack  of  a  striking  object  to  crown 
the  Alatrian  hill-top.  Of  all  the  walls 
of  our  series,  the  inner  range  of  the 
walls  of  Alatri,  the  walls  which  fence 
in  the  arx,  are  the  most  prominent  in 
a  distant  view.  Even  the  circuit  of 
empty  Norba,  beyond  our  immediate 
range,  hardly  outdoes  these  defences 
of  a  still  inhabited  town.  At  Alatri 
indeed  the  primaeval  walls  are  so  prom- 
inent that  in  the  distant  view  no  one 
would  suspect  them  of  being  primaeval 
walls  at  all.  They  are  still  so  nearly 
perfect  that  they  can  and  do  discharge 
what  may  be  looked  on  as  a  survival 
of  their  original  function.  They  still 
fence  in  the  innermost  and  loftiest 
quarter  of  the  town,  where,  as  in  so 
many  other  cases,  the  ancient  citadel 
has  become  the  episcopal  precinct. 
But  at  Alatri  the  episcopal  precincJt 


2IO  Utal^. 

puts  on  a  distinct  and  central  charac- 
ter which  is  rarely  found  in  Italian 
cities.  The  arx  is  not  in  a  corner,  but 
in  the  middle  ;  the  lower  town,  fenced 
in  by  the  wall  of  its  own  outer  circuit, 
lies  around  it  on  every  side.  The  arx 
forms  an  open,  lofty,  and  airy  platform, 
looking  forth  from  every  point  of  the 
compass  on  the  mountains  which  keep 
watch  around  —  on  the  little  towns, 
Veroli  among  them,  perched  here  and 
there  on  their  heights — on  the  houses 
and  churches  of  Alatri,  covering  the 
slope  of  the  hill  which  the  arx  crowns. 
It  is  seldom  that  we  find  in  an  Italian 
town  a  church  or  any  other  building 
standing  in  this  way  free  on  a  com- 
manding site,  not  hemmed  in  on  any 
side  by  parasitical  buildings.  These 
hill-towns  are  perhaps  better  off  in  this 
respect  than  most  others  ;  at  Anagni, 
at  Ferentino,  the  cathedral  churches 
stand  grandly  on  their  heights,  com- 
paratively free  from  all  buildings  ex- 


BlatrL  .        211 

cept  their  own  proper  companions. 
But  there  is  not  the  wide,  open  space 
around  them  which  surrounds  the 
church  of  Alatri.  One  cannot  help 
wishing  that  some  more  worthy  build- 
ing, either  the  primaeval  temple  itself 
or  some  more  fitting  successor,  occu- 
pied so  noble  a  site,  a  site  in  truth 
which  needs — let  us  say  either  the 
Parthenon  of  Athens  or  the  Parthenon 
of  I^incoln  to  do  it  justice.  But  the 
only  thing  that  can  be  said  for  the 
cathedral  church  of  Alatri  is  that  the 
lower  part  of  its  wall  is  part  of  the 
cella.  of  the  primaeval  temple.  Here 
we  have  something  even  more  than 
can  be  seen  at  Segni.  We  know  not 
what  may  have  been  added  in  the  way 
of  a  pillared  front ;  but  it  is  plain  that, 
as  far  as  the  main  walls  are  concerned, 
the  building  which  was  transformed 
into  a  Christian  church  was  actually 
the  house  of  pagan  worship  itself.  And 
it  was  a  house  going  back,   not  to 


212       ^  1ftali5. 

dated  Emperors  or  consuls,  but  to  the 
unrecorded  age  which  reared  these 
cities  great  and  fenced  up  to  heaven. 
There  is  the  terrace,  there  is  the  wall 
of  the  cella,  wrought  of  the  same  won- 
derful masonry  as  the  walls  of  the 
surrounding  arx,  as  the  walls  of  the 
yet  again  surrounding  city.  It  is 
strange  indeed  to  see  the  ordinary 
rites  of  Christian  worship,  the  ordinary 
accompaniments  of  a  Christian  church, 
dwelling,  as  at  Rome  and  Syracuse, 
within  the  temples  of  a  creed,  fallen 
indeed  but  perfectly  familiar.  But 
here  we  see  them  within  walls  reared 
in  honour  of  we  know  not  what — gods 
of  unchronicled  days,  gods  alongside 
of  whom  Jupiter  of  the  Capitol  may 
have  seemed  as  strange  and  foreign  as 
Mithras  and  Serapis  now  seem  along- 
side of  Jupiter  of  the  Capitol. 

Where  the  praehistoric  temple  has 
thus  become  the  cathedral  church,  it 
is  not  out  of  keeping  that  the  wall  of 


BlatrL  213 

the  praehistoric  arx  should  become  the 
wall  of  the  cathedral  close.  This  is 
the  wall  which  we  see  from  afar,  a  wall 
which  seems  so  straight  and  regular, 
so  clearly  furnished  with  a  modern 
finish  at  top,  that  it  is  not  till  we  can 
distinguish  the  mighty  blocks  of  which 
it  is  formed  that  it  has  the  air  of  a 
wall  even  of  Roman,  even  of  mediaeval, 
antiquity.  Shall  we  say  it  ?  As  we 
looked  up  at  no  very  amazing  distance, 
the  wall  of  the  arx  of  Alatri  had  a 
good  deal  of  the  air  of  the  wall  of 
a  modern  prison.  We  could  not  yet 
see  the  construction,  and  the  outline 
seemed  more  regular  and  rectangular 
than  it  proves  to  be.  Nowhere  do  we 
better  see  than  at  Alatri  the  nature  of 
these  primitive  walls.  They  are  sel- 
dom walls  in  the  same  sense  as  the 
later  walls  of  Rome  or  of  other  places, 
walls  built  on  the  ground  and  standing 
up  clear  on  both  sides.  Their  business 
commonly  is,  as  is  perhaps  more  clear 


214  irtal^, 

at  Alatri  than  anywhere  else,  to 
strengthen  by  masonry  the  scarped 
side  of  a  hill.  Hence  they  have  little 
or  no  height  within,  and  the  gateways 
are  necessarily  reached  from  within  by 
a  steep  descent.  The  open  space  at 
Alatri  allows  this  arrangement  to  be 
studied  with  unusual  ease.  The  wall 
is  eminently  a  wall  against  a  hill,  and 
its  arrangements  are  made  with  no 
small  art.  The  weak  corner  has  its 
double  defence  ;  the  way  up  from  the 
town  at  this  point  is  carefully  sheltered. 
And  what  stones  they  are  with  which 
the  hill  of  Alatri  is  strengthened  ; 
above  all,  what  stones  they  are  which 
are  piled  together  to  form  its  main 
gateway.  Nowhere  indeed  in  the  walls 
of  Alatri,  whether  of  temple,  arx,  or 
city,  do  we  find  anj^thing  quite  so  rude 
as  the  rudest  part  of  the  wall  of  Cori. 
All  the  stones,  of  whatever  shape — and 
they  are  of  many  shapes — have  clearly 
been  cut ;  they  are  all  laid  according 


BlatrL  215 

to  some  kind  of  system,  though  the 
system  according  to  which  they  are 
laid  is  not  the  same  in  every  part  of 
the  wall.  In  some  parts  they  seem 
almost  to  take  the  shape  of  construc- 
tive arches,  at  least  of  attempts  at 
arches,  such  as  may  be  seen  in  gate- 
ways and  roofs  at  Segni  and  elsewhere. 
The  true  arch,  it  is  hardly  needful  to 
say,  is  nowhere  found  in  the  original 
work  ;  nor  do  we  find  even  any  of  the 
attempts  at  the  arch  in  that  position 
where  we  should  have  most  naturally 
looked  for  them,  in  the  gateways.  The 
great  gateway  of  the  arx  at  Alatri  is 
indeed  a  wonderful  work.  Its  build- 
ers either  knew  the  arch  and  despised 
it,  or  else  the  thought  of  the  arch  had 
not  come  into  their  heads.  It  is  as 
pure  an  example  of  the  lintel-construc- 
tion as  any  gateway  at  Athens  or 
Mykene.  We  suppose  that  the  lintel- 
stone  of  the  great  treasury  is  yet  vaster 
than  the  huge  lintel-stone  at  Alatri ; 


2i6  ftalij. 

but  the  Anakim  of  Alatri  were  at  least 
rivals  whom  those  of  Mykene  could 
not  have  despised.  But,  except  in 
vastness  of  construction,  we  must  not 
compare  the  gateway  at  Alatri,  per- 
fectly plain,  a  mere  piling,  though  a 
very  skilful  piling,  of  huge  blocks  with 
the  really  artistic  work  of  the  Myke- 
naian  treasuries.  It  goes  rather  with 
the  lion-gate  ;  only  there  are  no  lions. 
The  builders  of  Alatri  could  carve, 
as  is  shown  over  one  of  the  smaller 
gateways  of  the  arx.  But  they  chose 
to  carve  quite  other  subjects  than 
lions.  On  the  great  gate  however 
they  carved  nothing  ;  that  is  left  in 
the  stern  majesty  of  the  vast  blocks 
which  form  it.  And  here  we  may  dis- 
tinguish between  the  cut  blocks  of  the 
gateway  itself  and  the  far  ruder  blocks 
just  within  it,  which  merely  formed 
part  of  the  foundation,  and  which, 
when  the  steep  path  went  down  to  the 
gate,   would    not    have  stood    above 


Blatri.  217 

ground.  Even  the  builders  of  primae- 
val walls  clearly  drew  a  line  between 
what  was  meant  to  meet  the  public  eye 
and  what  was  not. 

But  we  must  remember  that  the  walls 
of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  the 
walls  which  first  catch  the  eye,  are  not 
the  whole  of  the  walls  of  Alatri. 
They  fence  in  only  its  inner  and  higher 
circuit.  Their  effect  in  the  distant 
view  is  so  imposing  that  the  visitor 
will  most  likely  be  tempted  to  go  to 
them  first,  instead  of  doing  things  in  a 
more  regular  order  by  first  tracking  out 
the  walls  of  the  town  itself.  But  these 
last,  except  that  they  do  not  supply 
anything  like  the  primaeval  gate,  are 
just  as  well  worthy  of  study  as  the 
walls  of  the  arx  itself.  They  remain 
perfectly  round  the  greater  part  of  the 
circuit  of  the  city,  and  they  are  of  the 
same  general  construction  as  the  walls 
of  the  arx.  At  some  points  a  singular 
contrast  is  made  by  mediaeval  addi- 


2i8  Iftal^. 

tions  to  the  defences  ;  good  thirteenth 
century  work,  with  the  characteristic 
windows  of  the  time,  stands  out  as 
projections  from  the  primaeval  wall. 
And,  as  in  some  of  the  other  places, 
we  have  something  thrown  in  in  the 
way  of  what  the  walls  contain,  besides 
the  attractions  of  the  walls  themselves. 
From  the  arx  of  Alatri  we  look  down 
on  several  bell-towers  and  rose-win- 
dows, and  one  church  at  least,  that  of 
Sayita  Maria  Maggiore,  though  hardly 
equal  to  its  namesake  at  Ferentino,  is 
quite  worthy  of  examination.  But, 
next  to  its  walls,  the  strong  point  of 
Alatri  lies  in  its  domestic  buildings. 
Very  seldom,  in  Italy  or  out  of  it,  do 
we  see  graceful  windows,  chiefly  coup- 
lets with  a  divided  shaft,  more  thickly 
gathered  together,  than  in  its  crooked 
and  narrow  streets.  Alatri,  in  short, 
is,  to  the  antiquarian  eye,  satisfactory 
in  every  point  save  one.  There 
should  have  been  some  decent  build- 


Blatrl.  219 

ing,  pagan  or  Christian,  crowning  the 
noble  site  of  its  arx,  the  noblest  in  our 
whole  range. 

With  Alatri  we  end  one  main  stage 
of  our  iter,  that  of  the  hill-cities.  We 
shall  henceforth  pass  by  places  which 
lie  more  in  the  world,  some  of  them  in 
the  thick  of  modem  communication. 
But  if  we  had  turned  back  at  Alatri, 
we  should  have  done  a  good  stroke  of 
work.  A  journey  to  the  walls  of  the 
Hernicans  is  in  every  way  pleasant 
and  profitable.  And  in  truth,  even  if 
we  throw  in  the  Old-Latins  and  the 
Volscians,  it  is  not  a  journey  of  hard- 
ships. The  little  inns  are  very  hum- 
ble, very  simple,  but  they  may  be  fed 
in  and  slept  in  without  anything  very 
frightful  to  endure.  It  may  perhaps 
be  well  to  mention  that  the  Locanda 
d' Italia,  at  Anagni,  recommended  in 
various  guide-books,  has  ceased  to  ex- 
ist for  some  years.  Still  a  day  and  a 
night  at  Anagni  are  no  hardship,  and 


220  Utal^* 

a  guide  may  be  found,  shirtless  and 
letterless,  who  knows  what  is  really- 
worth  going  to  much  better  than  many 
in  Kngland  who  boast  at  once  more 
clothes  and  more  learning.  Indeed, 
the  men  of  the  walls  seem  altogether 
a  kindly  and  well-disposed  race.  Some 
say  that  is  because  they  are  said  to  be 
reclaimed  brigands,  perhaps  on  the 
principle  that  a  reformed  rake  used  to 
be  said  to  make  the  best  husband. 
There  are  indeed  more  beggars  among 
them  than  need  be  ;  but  on  this  head 
a  wise  rule  was  laid  down  by  a  young 
Volscian,  or  he  might  be  a  Hernican 
— we  cannot  always  be  exact  among 
these  obsolete  nationalities — ''  Give  to 
the  halt  and  the  blind  ;  but  not  to 
anybody  else." 


IV.  jf rom  Hlatri  to  Capua* 


\1  7E  have  done  for  a  while  with  the 
^  ^  hill-cities,  though  it  would  not 
be  hard  to  find  several  other  spots  of 
the  same  kind,  rivalling  in  historical 
interest,  and,  by  all  accounts,  rival- 
ling also  as  to  existing  remains,  any 
of  those  which  we  have  gone  through. 
But  the  special  necessities  of  an  iter 
ad  Brundisium  carry  us  to  quite 
other  parts  of  the  Italian  peninsula,  to 
parts  where  the  sources  of  interest  are 
fully  equal  to  those  of  Etruscan  or 
Latin  cities,  but  where  they  are  wholly 
different  in  kind.  We  leave  the  hills, 
or  touch  only  their  lowest  slopes.  For 
a  while  the  mountains  still  soar  above 
us,  while  our  work  is  in  the  plains. 

221 


222  1ftali5. 

Presently  we  lose  the  mountains  even 
as  distant  companions  ;  but  before  long 
we  have  the  blue  waves  of  Hadria  as 
their  substitute.  At  last  we  reach  our 
goal ;  we  go  for  a  season  even  beyond 
it.  And  when  we  have  gone  as  far 
as  the  devices  of  modern  science  can 
carry  us,  when  we  have  reached  the 
very  end  of  the  general  railway  sys- 
tem of  Central  Europe,  our  landscape 
again  takes  in  both  the  sea  and  the 
mountains.  But  the  eye  now  ranges 
beyond  the  bounds  of  Italy,  beyond 
the  bounds  of  Western  Europe.  We 
see  across  the  narrowed  waters  to  the 
heights  of  another  peninsula.  With- 
out seeking  for  more  than  a  chance 
likeness  between  the  names — a  name 
that  ranges  from  the  Euxine  to  the 
Hudson — without  seeking  in  any  sort 
to  identify  the  'AX/3avoi  of  Dionysios 
and  the  'A\/3avoi  of  imperial  Anna,  it 
is  still  with  a  curious  feeling  of  coinci- 
dence that  the  eyes  which  not  many 


ffrom  Blatri  to  Capua.  223 


days  before  were  looking  up  to  the 
mount  of  Alba,  now  look  across  the 
sea  to  the  wilder  mountains  of  Albania. 
Some  of  those  who  now  looked  across 
had  already  learned  something  of  those 
heights  from  earlier  and  nearer  experi- 
ences. Still  it  is  a  new  feeling  to  look 
out  on  them  from  Italian  ground, 
above  all  to  look  out  on  them  from  the 
spot  where  the  Turk  made  his  entrance 
into  the  western  world,  and  where 
the  signs  of  his  short  presence  have 
stamped  themselves  deep  on  local 
memory.  Standing  at  Otranto,  look- 
ing on  the  Albanian  heights,  the  fore- 
most thought  is  how  near  Otranto 
came  to  being  to  the  West  of  Europe 
all  that  the  Thracian  Kallipolis  was  to 
the  East.  But  we  are  as  yet  far  from 
Otranto,  far  from  the  heel  of  the  boot, 
far  even  from  any  point  of  the  Hadri- 
atic  coast.  We  are  still  on  the  western 
side  of  the  great  backbone  of  Italy  ; 
we  have  still  to  catch  glimpses  of  the 


224  1[tal^» 

Tyrrhenian  waters,  to  look,  as  at  distant 
objects,  on  the  bold  outline  of  Ischia 
and  on  Vesuvius  crowned  with  his 
pillar  of  cloud.  But  this  time  we  do 
not  obey  the  seemingly  inflexible  law 
which  decrees  that  he  who  goes  to 
Rome  and  does  not  turn  back  from 
Rome  must  go  and  see  Naples,  whether 
he  dies  after  the  sight  or  not.  This 
time  we  have  no  call  either  to  Naples 
itself  or  to  the  far  more  attractive 
range  of  objects  of  which  Naples  is 
the  centre.  Our  errand  is  to  pass 
from  the  primaeval  cities  of  the  I^atin 
and  the  Volscian  to  the  cities  of  south- 
eastern Italy.  Their  chief  present  at- 
traction lies  in  the  series  of  churches 
raised  in  the  days  of  the  Norman  and 
Angevin  kings  ;  but  their  memories 
carry  us  back  through  a  long  series  of 
stirring  ages,  not  indeed  to  the  hoary 
antiquity  of  Cori  and  Alatri,  but  to  the 
days  when  Southern  Italy,  the  earliest 
Italy,  was  counted  for  a  part  of  Hellas. 


Jrom  Blatri  to  Capua.         225 


It  is  not  for  nothing  that  we  look  out 
from  thence  on  those  eastern  lands 
which  then  perhaps  were  the  less  Hel- 
lenic of  the  two. 

Greek  influence  indeed  begins — 
some  say  that  it  historically  began — 
on  the  western,  not  the  eastern,  shore 
of  Italy,  in  lands  which,  in  the  present 
journey,  we  leave  to  the  west  of  us  and 
see  only  in  glimpses.  We  hurry  on, 
passing  by  much  that  we  might  well 
stop  and  study,  from  Frosinone  to 
Caserta.  And  we  are  luxurious  enough 
to  rejoice  at  finding  ourselves  there. 
We  have  proved  that  a  few  days  and 
nights  may  be  passed  among  Volscians 
and  Hernicans  without  damage  or  even 
serious  discomfort ;  but  we  trust  that 
it  is  not  an  avowal  to  be  ashamed  of 
that  it  is  a  pleasing  exchange  to  find 
ourselves  in  thoroughly  civilized  quar- 
ters in  the  plains  of  Campania.  We 
have  found  our  Capua  ;  not,  however, 
at  Capua  itself,  but  under  the  shadow 

VOL  n, — 15 


226  irtal^» 

of  the  royal  palace  a  few  miles  off. 
But  we  desert  Capua  only  because  Cap- 
uan  comforts — we  will  not  talk  of  lux- 
uries— ^have  fled  from  Capua  and  have 
found  their  new  home  at  Caserta. 
Those  who  have  tried  a  night  at  Capua 
itself,  Santa  Maria  di  vetere  Capua, 
not  the  newer  Capua  on  the  site  of 
Casilinum,  report  that,  if  Hannibal's 
army  could  be  quartered  there  again, 
they  would  certainly  not  be  corrupted 
by  anything  excessive  in  the  way  of 
creature  comforts.  Anagni  and  Frosi- 
none  are  said  to  be  far  in  advance  of 
the  city  which  long  was  to  Rome  what 
Paris  long  was  to  London.  The  ex- 
cuse doubtless  would  be  that  Capua  is 
Capua  no  longer.  The  name  of  Capua, 
and  with  it  the  stirring  history  of  early 
mediaeval  Capua,  has  wandered  from 
the  true  Capua  to  Casilinum.  It  is 
not  at  the  town  now  called  Capua,  but 
at  the  village — it  is  hardly  more — of 
Santa   Maria,  that  we  must  look  for 


ftom  Blatri  to  Capua*  227 


what  is  left  of  Etruscan  Vulturnum, 
of  Samnite,  Campanian,  and  Roman 
Capua,  the  special  city  of  pleasure,  the 
city  where,  before  all  others,  pleasure 
was  sought  for  in  scenes  of  blood. 

On  our  present  course  we  have  no 
special  call  to  either  Capua,  old  or  new. 
We  have  in  times  past  seen  both  the 
amphitheatre  of  the  elder  Capua  and 
the  cathedral  portico  of  the  newer. 
But,  when  Caserta  has  been  chosen  as 
a  convenient  halting-place,  it  would  be 
a  shame  for  the  historic  traveller  to 
pass  by  two  such  famous  spots  without 
a  glance  at  either,  while  in  their  neigh- 
bourhood lies  a  third  object,  of  no 
small  value  in  its  own  line,  which  will 
have  the  further  charm  of  novelty.  It 
is  well,  while  still  fresh  from  the 
Flavian  amphitheatre  at  Rome,  to  look 
again  on  the  amphitheatre  of  Capua — 
Capua,  the  mistress  of  Rome  in  the 
sports  of  slaughter.  There  is  a  certain 
special  lore  of  amphitheatres,  the  mas- 


228  Utal^. 

tery  of  which  does  not  fall  to  the  lot 
of  all,  even  of  those  who  look  on  the 
monuments  either  of  Rome  or  Capua 
with  a  general  historical  eye.  But  it 
is  easy  to  see  that  in  the  Capuan  am- 
phitheatre the  underground  arrange- 
ments can  be  studied  as  they  hardly 
can  be  studied  anywhere  else.  The 
walls,  the  seats,  are  far  less  perfect 
than  at  Rome  ;  much  more  then  are 
they  less  perfect  than  at  Verona.  But 
the  substructure  seems  wholly  un- 
touched. In  the  Roman  Coliseum  the 
underground  work  is  onljr  partially 
brought  to  light,  while  of  what  has 
been  brought  to  light  it  is  not  always 
clear  how  much  is  the  work  of  the 
Flavian  Emperors,  and  how  much  of 
the  mediaeval  barons  who  turned  the 
amphitheatre  into  a  fortress.  Here, 
better  than  at  Rome,  we  may  study 
what  really  happened  when  the  lions 
came  up  from  underground  to  be 
slaughtered  by  the  imperial  hands  of 


^rom  Blatri  to  Capua.  229 

Commodus.  If  any  question  is  raised 
as  to  the  date  of  the  building,  one  who 
is  not  a  special  Capuan  topographer 
may  be  satisfied  with  the  fact,  that  the 
inscription  of  Hadrian  claims  for  that 
prince  only  a  renovation  and  enrich- 
ment of  the  building  with  columns 
and  statues.  This  seems  to  imply  that 
the  shell  is  older ;  it  may  be  far  older. 
In  idea  at  least,  the  amphitheatre  of 
Capua  is  far  older  than  that  of  Rome. 
It  illustrates  a  strange  but  well-known 
law  of  human  nature,  that  the  taste  for 
luxury  and  the  taste  for  blood  should 
find  a  common  home. 

Besides  the  modernized  basilica,  be- 
sides the  tombs  of  various  sizes  and 
designs  which  line  the  road — one  of 
which  is  indeed  singularly  like  a 
model  of  an  amphitheatre — the  true 
Capua  has  little  to  show  besides  the 
amphitheatre  itself.  It  is  strange  to 
see  so  great  a  city,  one  which  for  some 
ages  must  have  been  far  greater,  far  more 


230  irtal^. 

splendid  than  Rome,  so  utterly  gone 
— or  rather  to  see  the  little  that  is  left 
of  it  translated  to  another  site.  But 
great  as  Capua  undoubtedly  was,  we 
begin  to  doubt  its  extreme  antiquity. 
Capua,  once  Etruscan  Vulturnum,  re- 
mained Etruscan  Vulturnum  till  the 
fourth  century  of  Rome.  It  was  the 
last  remnant  of  the  great  Etruscan 
dominion  in  that  region  of  Italy.  As 
such,  it  represents  a  state  of  things  far 
older  than  Rome.  But  the  city  itself 
may  well  be  of  later  date  than  Rome. 
At  all  events,  we  may  be  sure  that  it 
is  of  far  later  date  than  Cori  and 
Alatri.  The  city  by  the  Vulturnus, 
down  in  the  plain,  taking  its  name 
from  its  guardian  river,  marks  an  ad- 
vance not  only  on  the  mountain  strong- 
holds of  Segni  and  Norba,  but  on  Veii, 
on  Rome  itself.  It  must  be  far  older 
than  Florence  ;  but  it  is  the  fellow  of 
Florence  ;  it  marks  an  equal  forsaking 
of  the  oldest  type  of  a  city.     It  is  hard 


3from  Blatri  to  Capua.         231 


to  see  where  the  arx  of  Capua  could 
have  stood,  if  we  are  to  understand  by 
an  arx  something  set  upon  a  hill.  But 
what  a  position  that  of  Capua  was,  ac- 
cording to  later  ideas,  is  shown  by  its 
revival  after  the  Hannibalian  war. 
The  Samnite  settlement,  parted  away 
from  their  kinsfolk  of  the  mountains, 
had  become  Campanians,  and,  to  seek 
shelter  against  their  kinsfolk  of  the 
mountains,  they  had  been  fain  in  some 
sort  to  become  Romans. 

*'  Cives  Romani  tunc  facti  sunt  Campani," 

says  the  line  which  comes  as  such  a 
relief  after  the  involved  constructions 
of  later  Latin  writers,  a  line  w^hich 
records  a  fact  as  simply  worded  as  it 
could  be  in  a  mediaeval  chronicle, 
which  gives  us  a  true  leonine  rime,  and 
which  makes  its  way  through  six  feet 
without  a  single  dactyl.  To  the  Cam- 
panian  knights  their  Roman  citizen- 
ship was  doubtless  pleasant  enough ; 


232  Ktal^. 

it  may  have  been  less  so  to  the  com- 
mons, who  had  the  private  rights  only, 
and  who  were  burthened  with  a  pay- 
ment to  the  knights.  Yet  we  find 
that  the  revolt  of  Capua  to  Hannibal 
was  largely  the  work  of  noble  leaders. 
The  truth  doubtless  is  that  the  large 
amount  of  independence  which  Capua 
still  kept  only  made  any  measure  of 
dependence  more  galling.  Then  came 
the  blow  which  made  Capua  for  a 
while  cease  to  be  a  city.  Its  lands 
became  the  property  of  the  Roman 
people  ;  its  walls  were  left  simply  as  a 
shelter  for  those  who  filled  them.  Yet 
the  great  city  of  Campania  arose  again, 
to  be  once  more  a  great  city  till  the 
second  blow,  when  men  of  Semitic 
speech  came  not  as  deliverers  but  as 
destroyers,  when  Capua  moved  to 
Casilinum,  and  when  all  that  was  left 
of  the  elder  city  put  itself  under  the 
keeping  of  a  heavenly  protectress  as 
Santa  Maria  di  Capua.     Among  those 


fftom  Blatrl  to  Capua»  233 


remnants  of  what  was,  the  walls  of 
Capua,  the  arx  of  Capua,  are  not  to  be 
found  ;  at  all  events  they  do  not  strike 
the  traveller  on  his  first  or  his  second 
visit.  For  something  faintly  answer- 
ing to  a  Capuan  arx,  he  takes  himself 
to  the  neighbouring  mountains  There, 
on  their  lowest  slopes,  looking  out  on 
Vesuvius  and  Ischia,  looking  down  on 
the  Campanian  plain,  with  its  river, 
with  its  older  and  its  newer  Capua,  we 
come  to  a  spot  where  a  famous  temple 
of  the  older  faith  has  given  way  to  a 
less  famous  one  of  the  new.  A  jour- 
ney from  Caserta  to  the  Capuan  am- 
phitheatre in  the  plain  may  well  take 
in  a  journey  to  the  slope  of  Tifata,  the 
slope  of  the  hill  on  which  Hannibal  so 
often  pitched  his  camp,  and  where  the 
church  of  Sant'  Angelo  in  Formis  has 
supplanted  fhe  holy  place  of  Diana 
and  Jupiter,  which  took  its  name  from 
the  mountain  which  rises  above  its 
massy  tower. 


V.    H  Cburcb  b»  tbe  Camp  of 
IbannibaL 


\17E  reach  Tifata,  the  very  centre 
of  the  marching  and  counter- 
marching of  Hannibal,  the  spot  from 
which  we  may  best  call  up  a  picture 
of  beleaguered  Capua,  of  Fulvius 
waiting  for  his  prey,  of  the  stout  fight- 
ing on  either  side  of  the  enclosing 
lines,  of  Hannibal,  as  his  last  hope, 
turning  aside  to  threaten  Rome,  in  the 
chance  that  the  danger  of  Rome  might 
lead  to  the  relief  of  Capua.  The  name 
Tifata,  in  some  tongue,  most  likely  in 
the  old  Oscan,  describes  the  evergreen 
oaks  which  doubtless  formed  the  sacred 
grove  of  Diana.  The  goddess  had  no 
lake  here,  as  she  had  at  Aricia,  nor  do 
234 


:Bi?  tbe  Camp  of  IbannibaL       235 

we  hear  of  any  such  grim  legend  on 
Tifata  as  grew  round — 

Those  trees  in  whose  dim  shadow 
The  ghastly  priest  doth  reign, 

The  priest  who  slew  the  slayer, 
And  shall  himself  be  slain. 

Yet  beside  the  rites  of  Canaan,  the  rites 
of  the  gods  who  had  sent  forth  him 
whose  name  proclaimed  him  as  the 
Grace  of  Baal,  the  darkest  forms  into 
which  any  kind  of  Italian  or  Hellenic 
worship  strayed  might  well  seem  mild. 
In  tracking  the  career  of  Hannibal, 
we  are  ever  disappointed  at  the  utter 
lack  of  means  to  call  up  a  picture  of 
the  man  himself  apart  from  his  public 
acts.  He  had  human  weaknesses,  for 
he  found  a  mistress  at  Salapia.  He 
had  his  sallies  of  merriment,  for  he 
could  raise  a  laugh  at  the  grave  Gisgo. 
But  the  course  of  his  inner  life  is 
hidden  from  us.  Still  we  can  at  least 
see   that  he  was,   in  his   own  belief, 


236  Iftali^. 

charged  with  a  mission  from  the  gods 
of  his  own  city.  And  it  needs  an 
effort  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  gods  of 
Hannibal  were  Baal  and  Moloch.  The 
goddess  to  whom  he  would  have  reared 
a  temple  would  have  been,  not  a  Diana, 
but  an  Ashtoreth.  Yet,  among  the 
many,  and  mostly  false,  charges  of 
cruelty  brought  against  the  great 
Phoenician  by  Roman  writers,  we  do 
not  hear,  as  we  do  in  the  case  of  some 
other  Carthaginian  commanders,  of 
captives  being  made  to  pass  through 
the  fire  to  the  gods  of  Carthage.  Han- 
nibal, the  friend  of  Capua,  would  at 
Capua  honour  Diana  of  Tifata  ;  but  it 
was  not  Diana  that  had  sent  him. 
With  what  thanks  did  he  honour  his 
own  gods,  when  Capua,  second  city  of 
all  Italy,  welcomed  the  victor  of  Trebia, 
Trasimenus,  and  Cannae?  Is  it  too 
bold  a  flight  to  fancy  the  mount  of 
Tifata  the  scene  of  the  same  form  of 
Baal-worship  as  the  mount  of  Carmel  ? 


JSi5  tbe  Camp  ot  IbannibaL      237 


But  the  gods  of  Italy  lived  on,  un- 
disturbed by  the  momentary  presence 
of  Semitic  rivals.  Diana  was  not  the 
only  power  worshipped  on  Tifata ; 
Jupiter  also  had  his  holy  place.  And 
it  may  be  that  the  venerable  church 
which  now  forms  the  chief  attraction 
of  the  hill-side  represents  the  holy 
place  of  Jupiter  rather  than  the  holy 
place  of  Diana.  It  is  curious  to  see 
how  a  kind  of  appropriateness  was 
often  sought  after  in  the  nomenclature 
of  Pagan  temples  when  turned  into 
Christian  churches.  Thus,  at  Athens, 
the  Parthenon  remained  the  Parthe- 
non, while  the  temple  of  the  warrior 
Theseus  or  Herakl^s  became  the 
church  of  the  warrior  George.  We 
should  look  for  a  Santa  Maria  or  a 
Santa  Lucia  at  the  least,  on  the  site  of 
the  sanctuary  of  Diana.  Had  we  here 
a  San  Pietro,  we  should  have  very 
little  doubt  in  setting  down  the  prince 
of  the  Apostles  as  having  supplanted 


238  1ftal^. 

the  father  of  gods  and  men.  But  at 
Sanf  Angela  m  For  mis  we  feel  some- 
what less  certain ;  St.  Michael  sug- 
gests the  Norman,  and  the  Norman 
has  been  there.  It  may  well  be  that 
the  name  is  no  older  than  his  day. 

But  St.  Michael  on  the  slope  of 
Tifata  did  carry  us  back  in  thought  to 
a  church  of  St.  Peter  seen  some  months 
before  under  a  widely  different  state 
of  outward  things.  We  then  made  a 
somewhat  difficult  journey  to  a  great 
and  solitary  Tuscan  basilica  in  time  of 
snow.  The  outward  aspect  of  nature 
had  certainly  changed  a  good  deal  be- 
tween the  bleak  day  in  January  when 
it  was  found  a  hard  task  to  follow  the 
way  from  Pisa  to  the  basilica  of  the 
prince  of  the  Apostles  in  Grado  and 
the  sunny  day  in  May  when  the  same 
travellers  found  their  way  without 
difficulties  of  any  kind  to  the  basilica 
of  the  prince  of  the  archangels  in 
Formis,     And  there  certainly  can  be 


M^  tbe  Camp  of  Ibanntbal.      239 


no  likeness  of  position,  even  if  both 
were  seen  in  January  or  both  in  May, 
between  the  basiHca  standing  low  in 
the  flats  by  the  mouth  of  Arno  and  the 
basilica  which  nestles  against  the 
mountains  which  form  a  wall  to  the 
rich  plain  of  Vulturnus.  But  in  see- 
ing any  one  of  these  great  churches, 
left,  not  ruined,  like  our  Cistercian 
abbeys,  but  still  living  on  a  kind  of 
life  in  places  forsaken  or  nearly  so, 
something  always  brings  up  the  mem- 
ory of  some  other  of  its  fellows.  Aqui- 
leia  is  perhaps  the  greatest  case  of  all ; 
but  Aquileia,  with  its  special  position 
in  the  history  of  the  world,  stands  by 
itself.  If  Aquileia  itself  is  dead,  it  has 
lived  on  a  wonderful  after-life  in  the 
shape  of  its  Venetian  colony.  We  go 
to  see  Aquileia,  because  it  is  Aquileia  ; 
but  even  a  well-informed  traveller  may 
know  nothing  of  San  Pietro  in  Grado 
and  SanV  Angela  in  Formis,  till  either 
his  guide-book  or  some  earlier  visitor 


240  1ftal^. 

points  them  out  to  him  as  places  which 
he  ought  not  to  pass  by.  Aquileia 
again  has  other  things  to  show  besides 
the  great  basihca  and  its  surroundings. 
St.  Apollinaris  in  Classe  is  as  nearly 
forsaken  as  a  church  that  is  still  kept 
up  can  be  ;  but  the  basilica  of  Classis 
does  not  stand  by  itself ;  it  forms  part 
of  the  wonders  of  Ravenna,  as  St.  Paul 
without-the-Walls  forms  part  of  the 
wonders  of  Rome.  St.  Peter  in  Grado 
might  be  looked  on  as  standing  in  the 
same  relation  to  Pisa  ;  but  it  hardly 
efiters  into  our  general  conception  of 
Pisa,  as  the  church  of  Classis — papal 
havoc  hinders  us  from  adding  the 
church  of  Caesarea — certainly  enters 
into  our  general  conception  of  Ravenna. 
S.  Angelo  in  Formis  at  all  events  does 
not  enter  into  our  general  conception 
of  old  Capua,  because  there  is  not 
enough  of  old  Capua  left  to  form  any 
general  conception  of  it  at  all.  The 
church    and    the    small    surrounding 


M^  tbe  Gamp  ot  IbannibaL      241 


village  do  form  a  kind  of  distant  arx 
to  the  greater  collection  of  houses 
which  surrounds  the  amphitheatre ; 
but  among  the  nearer  objects  which 
catch  the  eye  from  the  height,  the 
most  prominent  is  not  old  Capua  with 
its  amphitheatre,  but  new  Capua, 
Casilinum  that  once  was,  with  its 
towers  and  cupolas,  mediaeval  and 
modern.  We  look  on  many  things 
from  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  portico 
of  the  archangel,  but  that  which  among 
artificial  objects  chiefly  draws  the  eye 
towards  it,  is  not  the  elder  Capua  of 
Hannibal  and  Marcellus,  but  the  Capua 
which  succeeded  Aversa  as  the  seat  of 
the  elder  but  the  less  famous  of  the 
Norman  powers  in  Southern  Italy.  As 
we  mark  the  advance  of  national  union, 
no  less  than  as  we  mark  the  advance 
of  mere  dynastic  aggression,  we  have 
sometimes  to  think,  for  a  moment  per- 
haps to  mourn,  that  "kingdoms  have 
shrunk  to  provinces, ' '  though  in  this 

VOL  II— 16 


242  1[tal^» 

form  of  advance  and  incorporation,  we 
have  no  longer  to  add  that  ' '  chains 
clank  over  sceptred  cities."  Capua, 
on  both  its  sites,  once  the  head  of  an 
Etruscan,  once  of  a  Norman  dominion, 
passed,  in  one  age,  under  the  uni- 
versal rule  of  Rome.  In  another 
age  it  again  sank  from  its  separate 
headship  to  become  a  member  of 
that  greater  Norman  dominion  in 
Apulia  and  Sicily  which,  after  more 
shiftings,  unions,  divisions,  transfers 
to  distant  rulers,  than  any  other  part 
of  Europe,  has  in  our  days  been 
merged  in  the  realm  of  united  Italy, 
with  Rome  as  its  head,  but  not  its 
mistress. 

We  reach  then  the  height  which, 
whether  that  of  Jupiter  or  Diana  of 
old,  is  now  the  height  of  the  warrior 
archangel.  The  whole  history  of  the 
church  belongs  to  the  independent  days 
of  the  second  Capua ;  in  its  present 
shape  it  belongs  to  the  days  of  inde- 


16^  tbe  Camp  ot  IbannlbaL      243 


pendent  Norman  rule  in  the  second 
Capua.  But  the  days  of  independent 
Norman  rule  were  days  when  the 
arts  of  the  earlier  rulers  of  the  land 
still  lived  on.  We  see  signs  of  the  art 
of  Byzantium,  so  long  mistress  of 
Southern  Italy,  and  of  the  art  of  the 
Saracen,  in  Italy  only  a  visitor  or  an 
invader,  while  in  Sicily  an  abiding 
mavSter.  The  portico  in  front  of  the 
church  is  Roman  in  its  general  idea  ; 
but,  instead  of  the  colonnade  and 
entablature  of  the  Laurentian  basilica, 
we  see  an  arcade  whose  pointed  arches 
at  once  call  up  memories  of  Sicily. 
They  have  indeed  little  of  Sicilian 
grace.  Nowhere  at  Palermo  or  Mon- 
reale  do  we  see  such  massive  columns 
bearing  such  massive  stilts.  Columns 
indeed  we  should  hardly  say,  as  some 
of  them  are  plainly  mere  fragments. 
But  here,  just  as  in  Sicily,  just  as  in 
Aquitaine,  the  pointed  arch  is  no  sign 
of  coming  Gothic  ;    the  style  is  still 


244  1ftali5, 

wholly  Romanesque,  and  somewhat 
rude  Romanesque  too.  And  in  this 
region  of  Italy  we  can  hardly  doubt  as 
to  attributing  the  almost  accidental 
shape  of  the  arches  to  the  influence  of 
Saracen  models,  perhaps  to  the  work- 
manship of  Saracen  craftsmen.  Hard 
by,  but  not  joining  the  building,  by 
an  arrangement  unlike  Sicily,  unlike 
Apulia,  but  the  common  rule  of  North- 
ern Italy,  rises  a  bell-tower,  or  rather 
the  beginning  of  a  bell-tower,  which 
raises  our  wonder  as  to  what  it  would 
have  been  if  it  had  ever  grown  to 
its  full  height.  Two  stages  only  are 
finished,  the  lower  of  hewn  stone,  the 
upper  of  brick  ;  but  their  bulk  is  so 
great  that  the  tower,  if  it  had  ever 
been  finished,  would  surely  have 
ranked  among  the  highest  of  its  class, 
utterly  overpowering  even  the  great 
basilica  at  its  side,  except  so  far  as  it 
would  have  been  itself  overpowered 
by  the  natural  heights  above  it.     As 


3Bi5  tbe  Camp  ot  IbannibaL      245 


in  some  other  cases,  the  thought  sug- 
gests itself,  were  not  those  who  left  off 
building  the  tower  wiser  than  those 
who  began  it  ?  The  tall  bell-towers  of 
Italy  look  well  as  they  rise  from  the 
Lombard  plain,  as  they  crown  the  hill 
of  Fiesole,  as  they  skirt  the  shores  of 
the  lake  of  Como.  But  we  are  not 
sure  that  a  gigantic  tower,  which,  if  it 
was  to  have  any  kind  of  proportion, 
ought  to  have  been  carried  up  to  a 
height  as  great  as  that  of  Venice,  was 
in  its  right  place  when  set  a  little  w^ay 
up  a  mountain-side,  as  if  simply  to 
show  how  small  man's  biggest  works 
look  in  the  midst  of  the  works  of 
nature.  But  the  technical  eye  is 
thankful  for  the  fragment  that  has 
been  built,  though  mainly  on  a  very 
technical  ground.  Professor  Willis  is 
gone,  but  his  happy  phrase  of  mid-wall 
shafts  has  not  died  with  him.  The 
custom  of  the  elder  Romanesque 
towers,  the  abiding  fashion  of  Ger- 


246  trtal^. 

many  and  Northern  Italy,  was  to  set 
the  little  columns  which  divided  the 
coupled  windows  in  the  very  middle 
of  the  wall ;  the  latter  Norman  fashion, 
whether  in  Normandy,  in  England,  or 
in  Apulia,  was  to  set  them  nearly  flush 
with  the  outer  wall.  In  this  tower, 
Italian  by  geography,  Norman  by 
allegiance,  two  sides  conform  to  the 
Italian  and  two  to  the  Norman  fashion. 
Nothing  can  show  more  clearly  that 
even  such  small  matters  of  detail  as 
the  use  of  a  mid-wall  shaft  were  made 
matters  of  serious  thought,  and  that  it 
was  sometimes  thought  well  to  come  to 
a  compromise  between  two  rival  forms 
of  taste. 

The  outside  of  this  church,  except 
so  far  as  it  forms  an  object  in  the 
general  landscape,  is  perhaps  chiefly 
attractive  to  the  technical  observer ; 
the  inside  will  surely  appeal  to  every 
visitor,  though  the  visitor  who  is  tech- 
nically informed  in  matters  of  painting 


JB^  tbc  Camp  of  IbannibaL      247 


may  possibly  look  upon  it  with  more 
of  curiosity  than  of  positive  admira- 
tion. But  the  eye  of  the  more  general 
inquirer  will  give  something  like  posi- 
tive admiration  to  a  basilica  of  eight 
arches,  resting  on  ancient  columns  of 
various  marbles,  with  its  original  de- 
sign far  less  damaged  than  is  common 
in  Italian  churches,  and  with  every 
inch  of  available  space  covered  with 
elaborate  paintings  of  the  date  of  the 
building.  I^ike  St.  Peter  by  Pisa,  the 
archangel  by  Capua  trusted  to  paint- 
ing for  his  enrichment  and  not  to 
mosaics  ;  and  though  the  Campanian 
pictures  are  by  far  the  better  preserved 
of  the  two,  ^though  nearly  all  the  sub- 
jects can  be  made  out  with  the  greatest 
ease,  yet  Ravenna  and  Venice  rise  to 
the  mind  to  make  us  think  that  at 
least  if  endurance  be  the  object,  there 
is  a  more  excellent  way. 

The    walls    of    this    church    form 
almost  a  pictorial  Bible,  with  a  few 


248  Iftal^. 

legendary  and  local  subjects  thrown 
in.  The  Abbot  Desiderius,  holding, 
after  the  usual  symbolical  fashion,  the 
church  in  his  hand,  is  to  be  seen  at 
the  east  end  along  with  the  archangels 
and  evangelists.  At  the  west  end  is 
what  connoisseurs  tell  us  is  one  of  the 
very  earliest  pictures  of  the  I^ast  Judg- 
ment. On  the  two  sides  a  crowd  of 
scenes  and  figures  from  the  Old  and 
New  Testament  cover  the  whole  space. 
The  style  of  the  painting  is  said  to 
show  Greek  workmanship ;  we  look 
toward  the  west  end  and  mark,  hardly 
above  the  ground,  a  single  small  shaft 
with  a  capital  of  strictly  Byzantine 
character.  The  ruling  Norman  seems 
on  this  spot  to  have  pressed  into  his 
service  the  artistic  powers  of  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  peninsula.  Italian, 
Greek,  Saracen,  all  give  their  help  to 
adorn  the  house  of  the  archangel. 
The  Norman  himself  contributes  noth- 
ing but  the    position  of   two    small 


JS^  tbe  Camp  of  IbannlbaL      249 


columns  in  the  tower  windows.  We 
cannot  even  attribute  to  him  the  posi- 
tion of  the  house  of  the  archangel,  set 
Norman-fashion  in  a  high  place  ;  for 
the  first  church  was  built  before  the 
Norman  came.  It  is  not  so  further 
east,  where  a  distinctively  Norman 
element  is  to  be  seen  in  the  great 
churches  of  Apulia.  But  the  gathering 
together  of  the  best  skill  of  the  time 
from  all  quarters  is  a  thoroughly  Nor- 
man function,  whether  in  Italy  or  in 
England. 

The  basilica  should  be  compassed, 
so  far  at  least  as  to  climb  the  hill  a 
little  way  to  look  at  its  east  end.  Its 
surrounding  buildings  supply  an  arch 
or  two  to  catch  the  eye  on  the  way  up 
or  down.  But  the  essential  features  of 
Sant'  Angelo  are  the  grand  display 
of  painting  and  the  union  of  elements 
of  so  many  kinds.  It  is  the  first  of  a 
great  series  of  churches  at  which  our 
course  will  bid  us  to  stop   here  and 


250  1ftali5. 

there.  But  before  we  reach  them  we 
shall  pass  by  one  point  where  our 
musings  will  again  be  mainly  secular 
and  largely  pagan.  A  short  journey 
will  lead  us  from  Campania  into 
Samnium,  and  the  valiant  men  of  the 
Samnite  land  will  claim  a  tribute  on 
a  spot  which  is  Samnite  beyond  all 
others. 


VI.  H  Olimpse  of  Samnium* 


PROM  Caserta  and  what  is  to  be 
^  seen  from  Caserta,  our  next  jour- 
ney lies  by  the  line  of  railway  which 
runs  right  across  Italy,  connecting  the 
two  great  lines  of  the  east  and  west 
of  the  peninsula.  It  leads  us  from  the 
Campanian  plain,  with  at  least  its 
sheltering  wall  of  mountains,  with 
Tifata  to  guard  the  great  city  that 
once  was  from  the  ruder  land  beyond, 
to  the  great  plain  of  Apulia  from  which 
every  feature  of  a  mountain-land  has 
passed  away.  But,  in  so  crossing  from 
one  side  of  Italy  to  the  other,  we  pass 
through  a  striking  and  an  historic 
region.  We  are  in  the  land  of  the 
mightiest  Italian  rivals  of  Rome,  the 
251 


252  irtal^. 

land  of  those  with  whom  Rome  had  to 
fight,  before  Pyrrhos  and  Hannibal 
came,  and  ages  after  Pyrrhos  and  Han- 
nibal were  gone. 

Our  course  leads  us  into  the  heart 
of  the  Samnite  land,  a  land  which  may 
well  call  up  endless  musings  on  the 
hard  fate  of  those  ' '  hearts  of  steel ' ' 
who  bore  up  so  long  against  Rome,  in 
the  days  when  Rome  was  really  at  her 
greatest.  And  the  memories  of  the 
same  land  in  after  days  are  not  wholly 
alien  to  those  of  earlier  times.  Our 
course  brings  us,  at  not  a  few  points, 
across  the  memories,  if  not  of  nations, 
yet  of  men,  who  had  to  bear  up  against 
the  power  of  Rome,  when  the  power 
of  Rome  had  taken  a  far  other 
form  than  that  of  the  senate  and  the 
armies  against  which  the  Samnite 
had  to  strive.  For  the  old  Samnite 
land  holds  its  place  in  later  story,  as 
the  land  of  princes  who  felt  what  the 
spiritual    Rome    could   do   when   the 


B  (Blimpse  of  Samniunu        253 


powers  of  the  spiritual  Rome  were  at 
their  highest.  We  pass  tlirough  re- 
gions which  were  the  scene  of  no  small 
part  of  the  history  of  the  Nonnan  and 
Swabian  lords  of  Sicily  and  Southern 
Italy.  We  are  deep  in  the  land  of 
the  counts,  dukes,  kings,  and  emper- 
ors of  the  house  of  Hauteville  and  the 
house  of  Hohenstaufen ;  and  we  are 
often  called  on  to  stop  and  track  out 
their  deeds.  At  not  a  few  points  do 
we  light,  on  some  building,  some  in- 
scription, which  brings  up  the  memory 
of  Frederick,  the  Wonder  of  the  World, 
and  of  Manfred,  whose  field  of  over- 
throw we  shall  presently  pass  by.  In 
both  periods  the  history  of  these  lands 
has  a  character  altogether  different 
from  that  of  Northern  and  Central 
Italy.  In  the  later  period  this  needs  no 
proof :  we  are  dealing  with  the  history 
of  a  kingdom,  not  with  the  history  of 
a  system  of  separate  cities.  But  some- 
thing of  the  same  difference  extends 


254  irtai^» 

to  the  earlier  period  also.  If  we  wish 
to  know  more  of  Volscians  and  Herni- 
cans,  yet  more  keenly  do  we  wish  to 
know  more  of  Samnites.  The  part 
which  they  played  is  greater,  at  all 
events  in  scale,  and  their  dealings  with 
Rome  belong  to  a  stage  of  Roman 
history  when  we  feel  that  we  have  a 
kind  of  right  to  know  more  than  we 
could  hope  to  know  in  the  earlier  time. 
But  while  we  know  something  of  the 
character  of  the  Samnite  people  as  a 
whole,  while  we  know  something — 
though  much  less  than  in  some  other 
Italian  lands — of  the  geography  of  the 
Samnite  country,  we  have  no  clear 
notion  of  the  political  position  or  the 
political  action  of  any  particular  Sam- 
nite city  or  canton,  such  as  we  ever 
and  anon  do  get  of  particular  cities  of 
Etruria  and  I^atium.  And  again,  it  is 
seldom  that  we  can  call  up  any  distinct 
personal  conception  of  any  Samnite 
leader  as  a  living  and  breathing  man. 


B  Olimpee  of  Samnium.        255 


This  is  indeed  a  grievance  which 
affects  Samnites  along  with  the  other 
Italian  enemies  of  Rome.  The  per- 
sonal conceptions  which  we  do  get  of 
Etruscans  and  Latins  largely  belong 
to  legendary  times.  Of  historical  Vol- 
scians  we  know  very  few.  And  we 
have  already  complained  on  Hernican 
ground  that  we  cannot  picture  to  our- 
selves the  personal  likeness  of  any 
single  Hernican  of  independent  Herni- 
can days. 

Still,  on  this  particular  journey  we 
have  small  right  to  complain  ;  for  we 
pass  by  the  spot  which  calls  up  the 
memories  of  the  most  memorable  Sam- 
nites of  whom  we  have  any  personal 
knowledge.  They  are  men  of  one 
name,  most  likely  therefore  of  one 
house,  and  men  of  whom  we  emphati- 
cally wish  to  know  more  than  we  do 
know.  lycaving  Caserta  behind,  glanc- 
ing at  the  Campanian  plain  and  the 
Campanian  mountains,  marking  Naples 


256  1ftali?» 

only  by  the  smoke  of  the  distant  city, 
we  pass  along  through  what,  in  our 
simplicity,  we  take  to  be  the  vale  of 
Vulturnus,  till  we  light  on  a  more 
classical  friend,  armed  with  a  more 
classical  map,  who  explains  that  the 
stream  which  we  are  tracing  is  in 
strictness  not  Vulturnus  himself,  but 
only  his  tributary  Calor.  Anyhow 
we  go  along  its  course  into  the 
heart  of  the  Samnite  land,  and  we 
pass  by  one  spot — a  spot  which 
we  ought  to  have  treated  better  than 
merely  to  pass  it  by,  a  spot  round 
which  the  greatest  memories  of  Sam- 
nite history  gather,  and  where  they 
strangely  interweave  themselves  with 
wholly  different  memories  of  the  his- 
tory of  our  own  land.  We  reach 
Telesia,  the  home  of  the  Pontii,  and 
we  remember  that  Telesia  was  also  for 
a  moment  the  home  of  Anselm.  Our 
guide-book  provokingly  fails  us  ;  but 
the  large   building    on    the    hill-side 


B  (3limp0e  of  Samntum.        257 

must  surely  be  the  monastery  where 
he  sojourned.  There  are  Roman  an- 
tiquities in  the  place  ;  for  Samnite 
antiquities  we  do  not  look.  But  did 
Samnites  build  no  walls,  or  do  the 
mighty  bulwarks  of  Cori  and  Segni 
mark  an  earlier  state  of  things  than 
the  Sabellian  occupation  of  Southern 
Italy?  Anyhow,  we  are  here  at  the 
place  which  has  attached  itself  as  a 
surname  to  the  two  most  memorable 
men  in  the  scanty  personal  history  of 
Samnium.  Here,  on  his  own  ground, 
we  remember  that  Gains  Pontius  who 
spared  Rome's  army  at  the  Caudine 
Forks,  and  who  lived  to  be  led,  twenty- 
seven  years  later,  as  a  spectacle  in  a 
Roman  triumph,  to  end  his  days,  one 
might  almost  say  as  a  martyr,  by  the 
axe  of  the  headsman  in  a  Roman  dun- 
geon. So  we  used  to  read  the  tale  in 
our  youth  ;  so  moralized  the  historians 
of  our  youth  over  the  special  baseness 
which  handed  over  such  a  man  to  such 


258  1Ftal^. 

an  end.  Or  are  we  to  adopt  the  new 
reading  of  the  tale  which  at  least  saves 
Quintus  Fabius  Maximus  from  that 
special  stain  of  blood-guiltiness  which 
cleaves  to  the  canonized  memory  of 
Divus  Julius?  It  may  be  well  if  we 
can  believe  that  one  of  the  worthiest 
heroes  of  the  old  commonwealth,  if  he 
could  not  forestall  the  magnanimity  of 
Pompeius  and  Aurelian,  at  least  did 
not  sink  to  the  special  and  petty  spite 
of  the  murderer  of  Vercingetorix.  We 
are  now  taught  that  the  Gains  Pontius 
who  appears  twenty-seven  years  after 
the  first  mention  of  that  name,  is  most 
likely  not  the  same  man  as  the  merciful 
victor  of  the  Caudine  Porks.  If  this 
be  so,  then  Quintus  Fabius,  in  consign- 
ing his  Pontius  to  the  axe,  merely 
conformed  to  the  cruel  custom  of  his 
nation,  without  the  further  aggrava- 
tion of  slaying  in  cold  blood  one  who 
had  dealt  with  Rome  so  nobly.  And 
after  all  some  might  hint    that  the 


B  (Blimpae  of  Samniunu        259 


oldest  Pontius  of  all  was  the  wisest. 
It  may  be  that  the  sage  old  father  of 
Gains  knew  human  nature  best,  when 
he  bade  his  son  either  to  massacre  the 
whole  Roman  army  or  else  to  let  them 
go  free  without  terms.  It  may  be  that 
the  son  chose  a  more  dangerous  path 
than  either,  when  he  took  to  diplomacy 
and  middle  courses. 

But  if  the  earlier  Pontius  of  Telesia 
should  prove — though  the  guess  is  a 
simple  guess — to  be  in  truth  two 
Pontii,  perhaps  a  father  and  a  son,  no 
doubt  seems  to  have  fixed  itself  on 
the  identity  of  the  last  Pontius  at  the 
Colline  gate  of  Rome.  The  rising 
again  of  Samnite  life  at  the  last  mo- 
ment of  all,  when  the  war  with  the 
allies  seemed  to  have  lost  itself  in  the 
deeper  whirlpool  of  the  war  of  Marius 
and  Sulla,  is  really  the  most  striking 
thing  in  the  whole  history,  such  as  we 
have  it,  of  the  Samnite  people.  We 
are  taken  by  surprise  when,  in  days 


\ 


26o  1Ftali5» 

when  Rome  already  seems  the  fully 
established  head,  not  only  of  Italy,  but 
of  all  the  Mediterranean  world,  her 
power,  her  very  being,  is  threatened 
by  the  leader  of  a  nation  which  seemed 
to  have  been  dead  and  buried  for  some 
centuries.  But,  just  like  the  Volum- 
nian  tomb  in  one  way,  so  the  Samnite 
resurrection  in  another  way  is  a  witness 
to  the  real  life  which  the  other  states 
of  Italy  kept  on  under  a  form  of 
Roman  dominion  which  made  them 
externally  dependent,  which  threw  its 
influence  into  the  scale  of  oligarchy  in 
their  external  affairs,  which  ever  and 
anon  subjected  them  to  some  irregular 
demand,  but  which  left  the  general 
course  of  their  lives  to  be  whatever 
they  themselves  chose  it  to  be.  In  the 
days  of  Marius  and  Sulla,  Etruscans 
and  Samnites  were  still  Etruscans  and 
Samnites  ;  they  had  not  become 
Romans,  nor  had  they  merged  their 
being  in  any  common  name  of  Italians, 


B  OUmpse  of  Samndim.        261 


The  Social  War  itself  was  the  first 
attempt  at  forming  a  general  Italian 
nationality.  But  the  last  campaign  of 
the  last  Pontius  shows  how  deep,  in 
Samnite  hearts  at  least,  was  the  earlier 
feeling,  the  feeling  which  knew  no 
greater  whole  than  the  federal  union 
of  Etruria  or  Samnium.  It  shows  too 
how  specially  deep  was  the  feeling  of 
hatred  for  the  single  city  which  had 
brought  down  so  many  cities  and 
leagues  to  become  its  helpless  depend- 
ents. Against  Pontius  at  the  Colline 
gate  Rome  fought  for  life,  as  she  had 
never  fought  since  the  old  days  when 
she  had  to  guard  herself  against 
enemies  who  lived  within  sight  of  her 
capitol.  Foreign  invaders,  Pyrrhos, 
Hannibal  himself,  did  not  come  with 
the  same  fixed  purpose  of  rooting  up 
the  wood  which  sheltered  the  wolves 
of  Italy.  We  can  hardly  doubt  that  it 
is  the  hand  of  Sulla  which  from  that 
day  to  this  has  hindered  the  south  of 


262  irtali5. 

Italy  from  being  like  the  north.  But 
the  blow  which  crushed  the  Samnite 
people  as  the  other  nations  of  Italy- 
were  not  crushed,  was  vengeance  taken 
for  a  moment  when  it  once  more  be- 
came a  question  whether  Rome  shovild 
rule  over  Italy,  whether  Rome  should 
exist  at  all. 

At  Telesia  we  look  out,  and  muse  on 
what  might  have  been,  if  one  Pontius 
had  done  otherwise  than  he  did  by  the 
forks  of  Caudium,  if  another  Pontius 
had  fared  otherwise  than  he  fared  at 
the  gates  of  Rome  herself.  At  our  next 
halting-place  we  are  called  on,  not  to 
muse  on  what  might  have  been,  but 
on  what  was.  At  Beneventum  we 
tread  the  battle-ground  of  Pyrrhos  and 
Manfred,  the  ground  of  two  of  the 
greatest  victories  of  the  Rome  of  the 
earlier  and  the  Rome  of  the  later  day. 
There  we  need  not  strive  to  call  up  the 
dim  figures  of  men,  like  the  older  and 
the  later  Pontius,  known  by  one  action 


B  (5ltmp0e  of  Samnium,        263 


of  their  lives.  The  Epeirot  and  the 
Swabian  stand  out  as  clearly  discerned 
figures  in  the  history  of  their  several 
ages.  And  the  places  where  we  next 
halt  will  show  us  the  place  of  over- 
throw for  both,  the  place  of  death  and 
utter  ruin  for  one. 


VII.  aBene\>ento* 


\17K  follow  the  stream  of  Galore  till 
^^  we  reach  a  city  which,  without 
ever  having  been  one  of  the  great  cities 
of  the  world,  without  having  been  even 
one  of  the  greatest  cities  of  Italy,  has 
always  kept  up  an  important  historic 
being.  Beneventum  is  a  familiar  name 
in  all  ages  ;  yet  Beneventum  has  never 
been  either  a  mighty  commonwealth 
like  Venice  or  Genoa,  or  the  head  of 
a  mighty  kingdom  like  Naples  and 
Palermo.  It  has  had  its  princes  ;  if  we 
never  heard  of  them  before,  we  should 
learn  a  good  deal  of  them  by  studying 
the  monuments  of  their  city.  That  is 
to  say,  the  monuments  will  tell  us  a 
great  deal  about  princes  nine  hundred 
264 


JBenevento.  265 


or  a  thousand  years  back  ;  no  monu- 
ment that  we  remember  in  Benevento 
tells  us  anything  about  the  last  prince 
who  bore  their  title.  I^et  us  suppose 
a  wanderer  who  began  his  travels  at 
Autun  and  who  finds  himself,  in  the 
course  of  the  same  wandering,  at 
Benevento.  He  will  feel  it  as  a  gro- 
tesque coincidence  that,  not  so  very 
long  ago,  a  man  was  living  who  had 
once  been  Prince  of  Benevento  and  who 
before  that  had  been  Bishop  of  Autun. 
Benevento,  among  many  other  things 
that  it  is,  is  also  the  later  city  of 
Talleyrand,  as  Autun  is  the  earlier. 
But  there  is  this  difference  that  one 
thinks  of  Talleyrand  at  Autun  and  one 
does  not  think  of  him  at  Benevento. 
At  Autun  he  has  his  place,  though  a 
very  strange  place,  in  the  long  succes- 
sion of  Bishops  of  Autun  ;  at  Bene- 
vento, though  he  bore  the  style  of  its 
prince,  he  stands  all  alone  ;  we  cannot 
find  a  niche  for  him  in  the  succession 


266  irtal^. 

of  the  Beneventan  princes.  Yet  a  prince 
of  Benevento  whose  existence  marks 
the  ending  for  a  season  of  the  long 
papal  dominion  in  Benevento  reminds 
us  that  Benevento  had  its  princes  before 
that  papal  dominion  began.  It  reminds 
us  of  the  two  distinctive  features  in 
the  later  history  of  the  city.  Benevento 
was  first  the  seat  of  Lombard  princes 
who,  placed  on  the  borders  of  both 
empires,  contrived  to  escape  all  practi- 
cal submission  to  either  ;  it  was  then 
the  seat  of  an  outlying  scrap  of  papal 
dominion  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
the  Sicilian  realm.  In  both  these  char- 
acters Benevento  was  a  kind  of  curiosity 
on  the  historical  map  of  Europe.  But 
the  city  had  its  ups  and  downs  before 
those  days,  and  amongst  other  things 
it  had  gone  through  a  somewhat  gro- 
tesque change  of  name.  It  is  hard  to 
believe  that  a  city  placed  so  far  inland 
can  really  have  been  of  Greek  origin  ; 
but  legend  attributed  it  to   a   Greek 


JSenevento.  267 


founder,  and  its  oldest  name  had  a 
Greek  sound.  Greek  Maloeis,  Samnite 
Maluentum,  had,  when  it  was  read  into 
Latin  Maloventum^  an  ill  sound ;  so, 
when  the  Samnite  stronghold  was 
changed  into  the  Roman  colony,  it 
took  the  name  of  Beneventum,  city  of 
welcome. 

Beneventum,  marked  by  Procopius 
as  a  strong  city  in  a  high  place,  stands 
low  as  compared  with  the  true  hill- 
cities.  Still,  as  compared  with  Capua, 
it  might  itself  pass  for  a  hill-city.  It 
has  just  that  amount  of  rise  above  the 
river  which  there  commonly  is  where 
there  is  a  river,  such  a  rise  as  may  be 
seen  in  many  an  English  town  which  is 
not  as  Durham  or  lyincoln.  We  miss 
the  primaeval  walls  of  the  hill-cities  ; 
but  we  find,  on  the  other  hand,  works 
of  Roman  and  mediaeval  art  such  as  in 
the  hill-cities  we  do  not  find.  The  arch 
of  Trajan  has  vanished  from  Rome, 
except  so  far  as  it  lives  in  the  sculp- 


268  nm^. 

tures  which  were  torn  from  it  to  enrich 
the  arch  of  Constantine.  But  at  Bene- 
vento,  as  at  Ancona,  the  memorial  of 
the  conqueror  of  Dacia  still  abides. 
The  Beneventan  arch  may  indeed  fairly 
take  its  place  in  the  Roman  series.  It 
belongs  essentially  to  the  same  class  of 
designs  as  the  arch  of  Severus  and  the 
arch  of  Constantine,  while  it  has  little 
in  common  with  its  own  tall  and  slender 
fellow  at  Ancona.  At  the  same  time, 
vsince  it  has,  in  general  effect  at  least, 
taken  upon  itself  something  of  the 
position  of  a  town-gate,  since  it  bears 
the  name  of  Porta  aurea,  to  match  the 
golden  gate  of  Constantinople  and  the 
golden  gate  of  Spalato,  the  arch  of 
Beneventum  has  now  a  somewhat 
greater  air  of  reality  than  triumphal 
arches  commonly  have.  The  weak 
point  of  that  class  of  structures  is  that 
they  are  of  no  use.  They  do  not,  like 
a  wall,  a  gateway,  a  house,  a  temple, 
a  hall  of  council,  serve  any  purpose  in 


:iBenevento,  269 

the  ordinary  economy  of  things.  They 
are  purely  monumental,  set  up  to  com- 
memorate something  or  somebody,  but 
in  no  way  to  help  on  men's  daily  affairs, 
public  or  private.  And  yet  they  are 
not  mere  monuments,  like  a  statue  or 
an  inscribed  stone.  A  large  building 
of  this  kind,  having  very  much  the  air 
of  a  building  which  does  serve  some 
purpose,  is  a  little  deceptive.  It  is  so 
like  a  real  gateway  that  it  calls  up  the 
thought  of  a  real  gateway,  and  leaves 
us  a  little  disappointed  at  finding  that 
the  building,  after  all,  never  was  of  any 
use  to  anybody,  and  was  set  up  simply 
to  be  looked  at.  There  is,  therefore, 
something  a  little  unsatisfactory  in  the 
whole  class  of  triumphal  arches,  and 
it  may  even  be  that  a  slightly  ludicrous 
element  is  thrown  in  when  we  find  that 
the  immediate  occasion  for  rearing  this 
record  of  the  life  and  exploits  of  the 
' '  fortissimus  princeps ' '  whom  it  com- 
memorates was  the  repair  of  the  Appian 


270  Utali^. 

Way.  But  it  does  not  become  us  to 
find  fault  with  any  built  and  graven 
monument,  specially  with  one  of  a  time 
of  which  we  have  so  few  written  monu- 
ments as  the  memorable  reign  of 
Trajan.  We  are  so  much  the  slaves 
of  accidental  associations,  so  apt  to 
draw  lines  at  some  altogether  unrea- 
sonable point,  that  we  may  doubt 
whether  the  reign  of  Trajan  holds  the 
place  which  it  should  hold  in  popular 
imagination.  Suetonius  wrote  the  lives 
of  Twelve  Caesars,  and  this  mere  acci- 
dent has  caused  the  notion  of  a  break 
which  has  no  real  existence  between 
the  Suetonian  Twelve  and  those  who 
next  followed  them.  The  reign  of 
Trajan  marks  the  Empire  at  its  highest 
pitch  of  extent  and  power,  at  that 
highest  pitch  which,  in  its  own  nature, 
comes  just  before  the  beginning  of 
decay.  His  days  saw,  too,  the  highest 
pitch  of  architectural  magnificence  ; 
and  with  Tacitus  and  Juvenal  to  adorn 


:S6cncvcnto.  271 


it,  one  might  be  inclined  to  say  that, 
as  an  age  of  Latin  literature,  the  age 
of  Trajan  might  hold  its  own  against 
any  earlier  period  of  the  Imperial  rule. 
For  we  must  remember  that  the  great 
writers  of  the  early  days  of  Augustus 
are  in  truth  writers  of  the  republican 
period  living  on  into  the  Empire.  The 
Flavian  period,  continued  under  Tra- 
jan, is  quite  as  rich  as  the  earlier  days 
of  the  Empire  itself.  And  we  may 
notice  that  the  arch  of  Beneventum 
marks  the  reign  of  Trajan,  and  with  it 
the  Roman  Empire,  at  what  was  really 
its  highest  point.  It  was  raised  at  a 
time  when  it  could  commemorate  con- 
quered Dacia  and  tributary  Armenia. 
That  Dacia  and  Armenia  could  be 
brought  within  the  range  of  that  Ro- 
man world  which  is  continued  in  the 
system  of  modem  Europe  is  proved 
by  daily  witnesses.  But  the  arch  of 
Beneventum  was  built  too  early  to 
commemorate  its  hero's  later  victories 


272  1Ftali5. 

in  the  further  East,  momentary  victo- 
ries in  lands  which  neither  Alexander 
nor  Trajan  could  bring  within  the 
abiding  range  of  Western  influences. 

The  arch  of  Trajan  is  so  distinctly 
the  most  famous  thing  in  Benevento 
that  it  has  carried  us  out  of  all  chrono- 
logical order.  But  the  historical  interest 
of  Beneventum  lies  earlier  and  later 
than  Trajan's  day.  In  truth  the  Pax 
Romana  forbade  that  the  main  interest 
of  any  Italian  city  should  lie  in  Trajan's 
day.  We  may  believe  or  not  as  we 
please  in  the  presence  of  Diom^d^s 
and  ^neas ;  but  Pyrrhos,  Hanno, 
Totilas,  and  Manfred  are  visitors  who 
cannot  be  forgotten.  The  city  has 
looked  out  on  many  battles,  from  the 
overthrow  of  the  Molossian  to  the  over- 
throw of  the  Swabian.  A  pleasing 
tale  in  its  history  is  when  that  Tiberius 
Gracchus  who  is  the  first  of  a  name  to 
appear  in  Roman  history  led  back  his 
victorious  slave^soldiers  to  receive  the 


3Benex>ento.  273 


reward  of  freedom,  and  to  be  welcomed 
by  the  rejoicing  people  of  the  faithful 
colony.  For  among  the  Thirty  Cities 
of  those  days,  the  Latin  colony  of 
Beneventum  was  not  one  of  the  laggard 
twelve,  but  one  of  the  faithful  eighteen 
that  were  ready  to  endure  all  hard- 
ships. In  later  warfare  the  city  seems 
to  have'  been  less  steadfast.  It  wel- 
comed Belisarius,  and  in  after  days 
Totilas  took  it  without  any  trouble, 
and  if  he  destroyed  the  walls  it  was  not 
out  of  revenge  for  any  resistance  on 
the  part  of  its  inhabitants,  but  for  fear 
they  should  supply  a  post  of  defence 
for  an  imperial  army.  But  the  greatest 
day  of  Beneventum  as  an  historical  city 
comes  later  than  Totilas  and  earlier 
than  Manfred.  The  memory  of  that 
day  may  be  studied  in  the  chief  re- 
maining buildings  in  the  city,  the  two 
greatest  churches  and  the  castle.  The 
west  front  of  the  metropolitan  church, 
a  grand  example  of  Italian  Roman- 


274  Iftali^. 

esque,  is  furthermore  a  perfect  chronicle 
of  local  history.  There  we  may  read, 
built  up  into  the  wall,  a  crowd  of  monu- 
mental records  of  the  lyombard  princes 
of  Beneventum,  with  their  deeds, 
especially  their  dealings  with  the  dan- 
gerous power  of  the  Franks,  set  forth 
at  length.  The  bronze  doors  are 
famous,  with  their  long  array  of  Scrip- 
tural subjects  ending  in  a  lesson  in  the 
ecclesiastical  geography  of  the  prov- 
ince, the  figures  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Beneventum  and  his  suffragans.  The 
harmony  of  the  front  is  a  little  marred 
by  the  single  low  and  massive  comer- 
tower  ;  but  the  inscription  sums  up  the 
history  of  Beneventum,  political  and 
physical,  for  some  ages.  The  city  was 
laid  waste  by  the  Emperor  Frederick 
in  1229  and  by  an  earthquake  in  1688. 
The  tower  was  built  after  the  first 
overthrow  in  1279  ;  it  was  restored  after 
the  second  in  1690.  Destruction 
wrought  by  the  elements  would  thus 


:Bcncvcnto.  275 


seem  to  be  more  easily  repaired  than 
destruction  wrought  by  the  hand  of 
Caesar.  But  it  is  somewhat  strange 
to  find  Frederick,  in  his  own  belief  a 
successor  of  Trajan,  a  follower  of  Trajan 
in  Eastern  conquests,  branded  as  a 
destroyer  in  the  city  where  Trajan's 
memory  is  cherished.  But  Frederick 
had  to  deal  with  a  kind  of  power  which 
Trajan  knew  not.  The  wrath  of  the 
later  Emperor  fell  on  a  city  which  was 
too  faithful  to  the  Roman  Bishop.  The 
course  of  Trajan's  rule  was  not  likely 
to  be  interfered  with  either  by  the  ob- 
scure chief  of  the  persecuted  Christian 
sect,  or  by  any  minister  of  the  creed 
of  which  Trajan  was  himself  chief 
Pontiff. 

Within  the  church  the  repairs  done 
after  the  earthquake  have  wrought  a 
good  deal  of  mischief.  But  we  can 
still  see  the  four  ranges  of  columns 
of  a  mighty  basilica  which  must  once 
have  taken  its  place  among  the  noblest 


276  Utali^. 

of  its  class.  Their  capitals  are  a  little 
nondescript ;  but  they  do  not  offend 
the  eye  ;  if  they  were  certified  to  be  of 
Trajan's  day,  it  would  doubtless  be 
the  right  thing  to  admire  them.  The 
ambones  and  the  Easter-light  are 
lovely  work  of  the  early  fourteenth 
century,  the  days  of  a  real  Renaissance^ 
truer  than  that  which  followed.  The 
treasury  is  rich  in  vestments  and  other 
precious  things ;  but  the  reader  of 
Anselm's  Life  looks  in  vain  for  that 
specially  gorgeous  vestment  which  a 
Beneventan  Archbishop  of  the  eleventh 
century  bore  away  from  Canterbury  in 
exchange  for  the  arm  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew, and  which  made  its  wearer  the 
most  splendid  object  among  the  as- 
sembled fathers  at  Bari.  If  this  miss- 
ing garment  carries  our  thoughts  to 
England,  the  round  church  of  St. 
Sophia — hexagonal  in  its  inner  range 
— carries  us  to  the  Eastern  world,  and 
reminds  us  that  there  was  more  than 


JBenevento.  277 

one  line  of  successors  of  Trajan,  and 
that  Beneventum  came  under  the  in- 
fluences of  both.  The  cloister,  with 
its  amazing  series  of  capitals,  its  birds, 
its  elephants,  its  hunting  scenes,  may 
rank  with  those  of  Aosta  and  of  Aries, 
of  which  that  of  Aosta  can  supply 
camels  to  match  the  Beneventan  ele- 
phants. The  castle  dates  only  from 
Pope  John  the  Twenty-second,  far 
away  at  Avignon;  we  look  perhaps 
more  carefully  at  the  older  fragments 
built  up  in  its  walls  and  on  the  lion 
in  front  of  it.  With  the  lion  in  our 
thoughts  we  may  look  out  for  other 
beasts,  graven  or  molten  or  abiding  in 
their  own  relics.  Procopius  saw  there 
the  tusks  of  the  Kalydonian  boar,  as 
in  later  times  he  might,  either  at  War- 
wick or  at  Bristol,  have  seen  the  ribs 
of  the  dun  cow.  It  is  for  palaeon- 
tologists to  say  what  it  was  that  the 
Beneventan  antiquaries  really  showed 
him.     Failing  this  natural  wonder  we 


278  Utal^, 

go  to  pay  our  respects  to  another  beast 
whose  shape  is  due  to  man's  device,  in 
quite  another  part  of  the  city.  A 
rudely  carved  bovine  animal,  in  which 
local  patriotism  sees  the  Samnite  bull — 
the  bull  which,  on  the  coins  of  revived 
Samnium,  so  proudly  trampled  down 
the  Roman  wolf — is  now  cruelly  to  be 
ruled  as  nothing  better  than  a  monu- 
ment of  intruding  Apis-worship.  We 
have  less  time  to  spend  at  Benevento 
than  at  some  other  cities  ;  but  the 
Roman  arches  and  vaults  of  the  strange 
building  called  Quaranta  Santi^  the 
grand  Roman  bridge  below,  must  not 
be  forgotten,  and  we  must  still  give 
one  more  thought  to  the  two  mighty 
men  whose  hopes  were  shattered  at 
Beneventum.  Manfred  fell  with  his 
faithful  Saracens  around  him  ;  Pyrrhos 
lived  to  fall  by  a  meaner  end  at  Argos; 
but  Beneventum  ended  the  real  career 
of  both.  It  is  strange  how  the  two 
were  in  some  sort  the  converse  of  each 


JBenevento*  279 


other.  Pyrrhos  carried  the  Epeirot 
arms  into  Sicily  and  southern  Italy ; 
Manfred,  lord  of  Sicily  and  southern 
Italy,  established  a  Sicilian  dominion 
on  the  coast  of  Epeiros.  Korkjnra, 
Corfu,  the  island  which  has  seen  every 
master  except  the  Turk,  formed  part 
of  the  dominions  of  both  alike.  We 
leave  Benevento  for  another  city  in 
which  the  East  and  the  West  of  Eu- 
rope, and  a  crowd  of  other  elements 
besides,  meet  yet  more  closely  than 
they  do  at  Benevento.  At  Beneventum 
the  eye  of  Horace  began  to  be  caught 
by  the  well-known  mountains  of 
Apulia ;  Procopius  somewhat  boldly 
speaks  of  inland  Beneventum  as  being 
opposite  to  Dalmatia.  The  city  which 
we  take  as  our  next  chief  goal,  if  not 
strictly  opposite  to  Dalmatia,  is  so 
marked  as  being  opposite  to  one  Illy- 
rian  port  as  to  have  sent  its  name,  so 
to  speak,  across  the  Hadriatic.  We 
will  not  trouble  ourselves  to  look  out 


28o  -fftal^. 

for  Equotuticum,  or  to  regale  ourselves 
with  either  the  bread  or  the  water  of 
Canusium.  It  is  to  the  walls  of  Bari, 
fishy  Bari,  that  we  have  to  make  our 
way ;  at  Bari,  Greek,  lyatin,  Saracen, 
even  Englishman,  are  all  at  home,  and 
Bari  is  opposite  to  Antivari. 


VIII.    iRorman  JBuilbings  in 
Hpulia* 


A  T  Foggia  the  line  of  railway  which 
^^  crosses  the  Italian  peninsula 
from  Naples  eastward  joins  the  great 
European  line  which  for  the  most  part 
skirts  the  Western  Hadriatic  shore. 
From  Rome  itself  the  tfer  ad  Brun- 
disium  is  still  made  by  way  of  Bene- 
ventum  ;  for  the  great  mass  of  mankind 
Bologna  has  in  this  matter  supplanted 
Beneventum  and  Rome  too.  Our  east- 
ward course  across  the  peninsula  has 
done  for  us  much  the  same  as  would 
be  done  by  the  like  course  across  our 
own  island.  We  have  undergone  the 
same  change  as  if  we  had  passed  from 
Wales,  Devonshire,  or  Cumberland,  to 
281 


282  irtal^. 

lyincolnshire  or  East-Anglia.  We  need 
no  longer  look  out  for  hill-cities, 
where  the  first  element  in  such  cities, 
the  hills  themselves,  is  not  to  be  found. 
At  Foggia  we  have  not  even  the 
amount  of  hill  which  we  have  at  Bene- 
vento.  We  are  in  the  great  Apulian 
plain,  the  plain  so  precious  for  sheep- 
feeding,  and  the  occupation  of  which 
has  more  than  once  given  rise  to  wars 
and  treaties.  Of  Foggia  itself  many 
perhaps  have  never  heard  except  as  a 
railway  junction.  Yet  Foggia  has  a 
history,  and  its  history  has  monuments, 
though  we  can  hardly  put  them  on  a 
level  with  the  monuments  and  the 
history  of  Beneventum.  The  capital 
of  Apulia,  the  representative  of  ancient 
Arpi,  has.  a  history  in  some  respects 
the  same  as  that  of  Beneventum,  in 
some  other  respects  its  opposite.  Both 
cities  claimed  Diomedes  as  a  founder, 
while  Frederick  the  Second,  a  destroyer 
at  Benevento,  appears  as  a  later  founder 


Irtorman  :©uilDincjg  in  Bpulia.    283 

at  Foggia.  One  arch  of  his  palace  still 
remains,  with  an  inscription  telling  us 
how  under  him  Foggia  became  a  royal 
and  Imperial  seat.  There  died  his 
English  Empress  Isabel,  on  the  splend- 
our of  whose  passage  on  her  way  to 
her  marriage  our  own  historians  are 
eloquent.  Further  than  this,  the  monu- 
mental attractions  of  Foggia  hardly  go 
beyond  what  is  left  of  its  chief  church. 
Of  its  front  Gsell-fels,  gives  a  somewhat 
ideal  engraving,  showing  it,  not  as  it  is, 
but  as  it  was  before  earthquakes  and 
restorers  after  earthquakes  had  com- 
bined to  mar  it.  It  was — indeed,  with 
all  mutilations,  it  still  is — a  fine  front  of 
the  later  Italian  Romanesque,  with  one 
of  the  rose  or  wheel  windows  which 
we  must  now  look  for  wherever  we  go. 
More  attractive  perhaps  is  the  crypt, 
with  its  four  columns  and  capitals  of 
singular  beauty.  They  surely  belong 
to  the  time  of  the  Imperial  patron  of 
Foggia,  marking  as  they  do  a  kind  of 


284  1ltal^. 

earlier  and  more  healthy  Renaissance^ 
which,  taking  classical  form  as  its 
general  models,  took  them  only  as 
general  models,  and  did  not  deem  it- 
self bound  slavishly  to  copy  every  turn 
of  a  leaf  or  every  section  of  a  moulding. 
Such  works  of  the  carver's  tool  are 
akin  to  those  noble  coins  of  Frederick 
which  seem  ages  in  advance  of  any- 
thing that  bore  the  image  and  super- 
scription of  his  grandfather. 

Foggia  is  however  less  likely  to 
strike  the  traveller — at  least  the  trav- 
eller who  comes  from  the  hill-towns 
by  way  of  Capua  and  Benevento — ^by 
any  remarkable  store  of  ancient  monu- 
ments, than  as  being  the  first  to  which 
he  will  come  of  a  series  of  cities,  most 
of  which  at  once  impress  the  visitor  by 
their  air  of  modern  progress  and  pros- 
perity. The  heel  of  Italy,  in  its  cities 
at  least,  certainly  seems  to  be  the  very 
opposite  to  a  decaying  region,  or  even 
to  a  region  which  stands  still.     To  be 


IRorman  JSuilDings  in  Bpulla.    285 


sure,  the  city  whose  name  is  the  most 
familiar  of  all  is  something  of  an  ex- 
ception ;  Brindisi,  notwithstanding  its 
dealings  with  the  whole  world,  is  not 
as  Bari  or  even  as  Trani.  But  most  of 
the  towns  at  which  we  tarry,  or  which 
we  pass  by,  give  quite  a  different  im- 
pression. We  cannot  tarry  at  all.  At 
Barletta  we  get  only  a  glimpse  of  the 
Imperial  colossus,  and  therefore  we  do 
not  venture  to  hazard  a  guess  whether 
it  is  Heraclius  or  any  later  prince 
whom  it  represents.  Along  this  coast, 
any  Caesar  of  the  East  is  in  his  place,  if 
only  as  a  memorial  of  the  long,  though 
half  forgotten,  time  when  Southern 
Italy  bowed  to  the  New  Rome  and  not 
to  the  Old.  But  we  do  not  let  these 
earlier  memories  wholly  shut  out  the 
thought  of  the  later  combat  when  the 
Horatii  and  Curiatii  of  legend  found 
themselves  multiplied  by  a  process 
exactly  opposite  to  decimation.  The 
attractions  of  Trani  are  irresistible  ;  a 


286  Iftal^. 

bell-tower  rising  as  proudly  over  the 
waves  as  that  of  Spalato  itself  would 
force  us  to  halt  even  if  we  knew  noth- 
ing before  of  what  church  and  city  has 
to  show  us.  The  metropolitan  church 
of  Trani  is  certainly  one  of  the  very 
noblest  examples  of  that  singular 
mixture  of  Norman  and  more  strictly 
Italian  forms — not  without  a  touch 
both  of  the  Greek  and  the  Saracen — 
which  is  the  characteristic  style  of  this 
region,  the  natural  result  of  its  political 
history.  Strange,  but  striking  in  the 
extreme,  is  the  effect  of  the  east  end 
of  this  church  rising  close  above  the 
sea ;  far  more  truly  admirable  is  the 
effect  of  the  inside,  where  the  coupled 
columns  of  the  Saracen  have  been 
boldly  taught  to  act  as  the  piers  of  the 
great  arcades,  and  to  bear  up  above 
them  a  massive  triforium,  which  by 
itself  would  make  us  think  ourselves 
in  Normandy  or  England.  All  the 
churches  of  this  district  have  a  good 


Borman  ^uilDinge  in  Bpulta.    287 

deal  of  their  strength  underground, 
and  the  under-church  of  Trani  is 
worthy  of  the  building  which  it  sup- 
ports. The  smaller  church,  All  Saints* , 
a  charming  little  basilica  with  a  port- 
ico of  singular  grace,  as  also  several 
good  pieces  of  domestic  architecture, 
and  the  general  effect  bf  the  tower 
skirted  with  its  dark  arcades,  all  join 
to  make  Trani  a  place  which  cannot  be 
passed  by,  though  no  august  form  calls 
on  us,  as  at  Barletta,  to  tarry  to  pay 
Caesar  his  due  homage.  But  Trani 
has  found  something  to  be  said  for  it- 
self both  by  pen  and  by  pencil  in  quite 
other  company.  An  accident  of  later 
times  gave  it  a  right  to  rank,  like 
Brindisi  itself,  among  the  Subject  and 
Neighbour  Lands  of  Venice.  And 
Trani  has  peculiarities  of  its  own. 
The  main  features  of  the  style  may  be 
studied  elsewhere.  We  long  to  see 
Barletta,  to  tarry  to  pay  Caesar  his  due. 
We  long  to  stop  at  Bisceglia  and  Mol- 


288  irtal^» 

fetta,  of  which  we  read  attractive 
notices  ;  but  again  we  must  pick  and 
choose,  and  Bitonto  is  the  only  place 
on  which  we  can  qualify  ourselves 
to  speak  at  all  at  large,  till  we  come 
to  the  head  of  the  whole  region  at 
Bari. 

Bitonto  shares  a  station  with  San 
Spirito,  but  it  lies  further  away  from 
the  railway,  and  that  on  the  inland 
side,  than  most  of  the  towns  along  this 
line.  Its  main  interest  is  found  in  its 
cathedral  church,  which  in  some  points 
prepares  us  for  the  buildings  of  Bari. 
First  of  all  in  point  of  wonder,  though 
latest  in  point  of  date,  is  the  treatment 
which  it  has  undergone  at  the  hands 
of  modern  improvers.  A  dim  remem- 
brance comes  to  us  that  we  saw  some- 
thing of  the  same  kind  in  the  Dominican 
church  at  Perugia  ;  otherwise  we  ask 
in  amazement  why  any  man  should 
think  it  an  improvement  to  cut  off  the 
whole  upper  part  of  a  church  as  seen 


IRorman  :©uilMng6  In  Bpulia.    289 

inside  by  thrusting  in  a  roof  a  great 
deal  lower  than  the  original  one,  and 
thereby  leaving  the  upper  stages  out- 
side to  stand  up  in  the  air,  serving  no 
kind  of  purpose.  Yet  this  has  been 
done  both  at  Bitonto  and  at  Bari.  Yet 
perchance  the  improvers  of  modem 
times  might  retort  on  the  original 
architects,  and  ask  why,  when  they 
had  made  three  apses  at  the  east  end, 
they  presently  built  up  a  wall  to  hide 
them.  This  is  the  arrangement  both 
at  Bitonto  and  in  the  two  great 
churches  of  Bari.  The  notion  of  Nor- 
mans working  in  Italy  would  almost 
seem  to  have  been  to  make  an  Italian 
front  at  one  end,  and  something  ap- 
proaching to  a  Norman  front  at  the 
other  end.  Thus  the  church  of  Bi- 
tonto has  an  excellent  west  front  of 
Italian  outline,  with  details  more 
Italian  than  Norman,  and  with  the 
characteristic  round  window  evidently 
designed  from  the  beginning,  though 


290  "fftal^, 

the  one  which  is  actually  there  must 
be  of  later  date.  Also  there  either 
has  been  or  has  been  meant  to  be  a 
portico  over  the  lower  stage  of  the 
west  front,  a  thoroughly  Italian  no- 
tion. But  the  east  end  takes  almost 
the  form  of  a  Norman  west  front ;  a 
Norman  founder,  it  would  seem,  was 
not  happy  unless  he  could  somewhere 
or  other  get  two  towers  with  an  orna- 
mental wall  between  them.  To  this 
end  the  apses  are  sacrificed.  Instead 
of  the  three  curved  projections  which 
form  the  main  features  of  so  many 
Italian,  German,  and  indeed  Norman, 
east  ends,  the  whole  east  end  is  flat. 
The  side  apses  are  disguised  by 
towers,  one  only  of  which  is  carried  up 
to  any  height,  while  the  great  apse  is 
hidden  by  the  wall  between  the  towers. 
Herein  is  the  difference  between  Bi- 
tonto  and  Trani.  At  Trani  there  are 
no  eastern  towers,  and  the  apses, 
though  of  amazing  external    height 


IRorman  :BSuUDin00  in  Bpulta*    291 


and  no  less  amazing  slightness  of  pro- 
jection, are  still  real  apses  with  a  real 
curve.  At  Bitonto  no  one  could  know 
from  the  outside  that  there  were  any 
apses  at  all.  As  the  ordinary  ranges 
of  arcades  and  windows  are  thus  made 
impossible,  the  architect,  like  an  Eng- 
lish architect  some  generations  later, 
threw  his  strength  into  a  single  east 
window,  and  certainly  made  one  as 
large  and  as  rich  as  was  possible  before 
the  invention  of  tracery.  An  elaborate 
round-headed  opening  is  covered  with 
rich  devices,  and  has  wonderful  mon- 
sters to  bear  up  its  side-shafts.  This 
too  is  to  be  seen  at  Trani,  and  we  shall 
come  again  to  other  examples  at  Bari. 
There  is  something  very  strange  in 
these  attempts  to  reconcile  the  ideas  of 
Normandy  and  of  Italy  in  one  build- 
ing. But  in  these  flat  east  ends  the 
result  is  that  we  get  something  which 
is  certainly  neither  Italian  nor  Norman, 
and  which  can  hardly  be  approved  ac- 


292  irtal^» 

cording  to  any  law  of  either  reality  or 
beauty. 

The  same  spirit  of  compromise  goes 
on  in  other  parts.  The  endless  col- 
umns of  the  under-church  supply  a 
rich  study  of  capitals,  largely  of  the 
grotesque  kind.  Men,  monkeys,  the 
original  ram's  horn,  leaves,  the  Impe- 
rial eagle — ^better  suited  for  the  purpose 
than  anything  else — all  do  duty  as 
volutes.  The  columns  in  the  upper- 
church  too  give  another  rich  collection 
of  various  kinds  of  human,  animal, 
and  vegetable  forms.  But  here  a 
soberer  spirit  reigns  ;  though  perhaps 
no  one  capital  is  strictly  classical,  yet 
the  grotesque  does  not  reign  as  it  does 
below.  Three  arches  from  columns, 
a  solid  block,  three  more  arches  from 
columns,  make  up  the  nave.  Over 
these  Italian  elements  Norman  taste 
set  a  triforium ;  modern  taste  has 
hidden  the  clerestory.  Outside,  the 
Italian  has  his  way  in  the  rich  open 


IKlorman  :©ullDtng6  In  BpuUa.    293 


arcades  of  the  parapets  and  in  the 
windows  of  various  forms,  filled,  some 
of  them,  with  that  kind  of  pierced 
tracery  which  is  neither  Italian  nor 
Norman,  but  distinctively  Oriental, 
and  which  look  as  if  they  had  come — 
as  they  possibly  may  have  come — 
from  a  mosque. 

Altogether  there  is  something  singu- 
larly interesting  in  this  mixture  of 
styles— more  strictly  this  mixture  of 
two  varieties  of  the  same  style,  for 
Italian  and  Norman  Romanesque  are 
after  all  members  of  one  great  artistic 
family.  Nothing  of  the  kind  happened 
in  Sicily,  where  the  Norman  kings 
simply  set  native  craftsmen,  Greek  and 
Saracen,  to  build  for  them  after  their 
several  native  fashions.  Here,  in  a 
land  where  Greek  and  I^atin  elements 
were  striving  for  mastery,  where  the 
Saracen  was  a  mere  occasional  visitor, 
the  Norman  brought  in  the  ideas  of  his 
own  land  to  make  a  new  element.  But, 


294  Iftal^. 

if  nothing  like  this  happened  in  Sicily, 
something  a  little  like  it  did  happen 
in  England.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
Norman  architecture  was  influenced, 
though  very  slightly,  by  the  earlier 
native  style  of  England,  a  rude  imita- 
tion of  Italian  models.  That  Norman 
architecture  in  Apulia  should  be  far 
more  deeply  influenced  by  the  Italian 
models  themselves  was  but  carrying 
out  the  same  general  process,  as  was 
only  natural,  in  a  far  greater  degree. 


IX.    Bart 


\1 /"E  are  now  at  Barium,  Bari,  the 
^^  original  Bari  of  the  West,  as 
distinguished  from  the  Bari,  Bar,  Anti- 
baris,  Antivari,  which  repeats  its  name 
on  the  opposite  coast.  There  we  can 
now  again,  as  we  could  have  done 
seventy  years  back  at  Cattaro,  land  at 
a  Montenegrin  haven.  The  distinction 
between  the  two  bearers  of  the  name 
of  Bari  implies  an  association  which  is 
not  out  of  place.  The  historic  interest 
of  Bari  gathers  wholly  round  its  con- 
nexion with  the  lands  on  the  other 
side  of  Hadria.  In  earlier  days  the 
place  has  really  no  history  whatever. 
Its  most  memorable  day  was  when  the 
powers  of  the  Eastern  and  Western 
295 


296  Iftali^, 

Empires — powers  which  perhaps  never 
again  worked  in  such  harmony — were 
needed  to  dislodge  a  Saracen  Sultan 
from  its  walls.  * '  Emir, ' '  some  one 
will  say,  not  **  Sultan,"  and  certainly 
we  are  more  used  in  Europe  to  Sultans 
of  much  later  date  than  the  days  of 
I^ewis  the  Second  and  Basil  the  First, 
Sultans  coming  from  quite  other  lands 
than  any  that  can  have  sent  forth  the 
Mussulman  prince  of  Bari.  But  he  is 
called  Sultan  as  well  as  Emir  by  his 
one  biographer,  the  Emperor  Constan- 
tine,  and  we  cannot  appeal  from  those 
august  pages  which  still  form  the  best 
guide-book  to  the  eastern  shores  of 
the  Hadriatic.  Anyhow,  the  Sultan 
of  Bari  was  a  philosopher;  he  never 
laughed,  except  once  when  he  saw  a 
wheel  go  round ;  for  that  reminded 
him  of  the  ups  and  downs  of  his  own 
fortunes.  Then  Bari  passes  to  the  rule 
of  the  Eastern  Empire  ;  instead  of  a 
Sultan  it  has  a  Katapan,  representative 


MnvU  297 

of  the  Eastern  Augustus  in  that  Italian 
dominion  which  had  become  so  small 
at  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  century, 
and  which  was  so  great  again  at  its 
end.  Threatened  again  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  eleventh  century  by  new 
Saracen  invaders,  it  is  guarded  by  the 
fleets  of  Venice,  still  the  faithful  vassal 
of  Constantinople  against  a  common 
enemy.  Seventy  years  later  the  arms 
of  Robert  Wiscard  added  the  capi- 
tal of  Byzantine  Italy  to  his  Norman 
dominion,  and  before  the  century  was 
out,  Pope  Urban,  the  great  stirrer  of 
the  West  against  the  Mussulman  East, 
chose  Bari  as  the  scene  of  the  Council 
called  to  denounce  at  once  the  practical 
abuses  of  the  Christian  West  and  the 
dogmatic  errors  of  the  Christian  East. 
Once  more,  in  the  next  age,  we  find 
Bari  looking  across  the  sea  to  its  old 
lord,  and  chastised  by  the  Sicilian  king 
for  its  disloyalty.  Add  that  Bari,  be- 
fore all  saints,  still  honours  St.  Nicolas 


298  irtai^. 

of  the  Lykian  Myra,  and  keeps  his 
relics  sacred,  we  are  told,  from  Turkish 
desecration  by  the  craft  of  merchants 
of  her  own  city.  Altogether  Bari 
seems,  at  least  in  its  history,  as  much 
Greek  as  Italian  or  Norman.  It  would 
seem  neither  unnatural  nor  unpleasant 
if  Greek  were  still  the  tongue  of  the 
seafaring  folk  of  Bari,  much  as  a  Nor- 
man in  his  own  land  often  carries 
an  air  about  him  which  would  make 
Danish  seem  a  much  more  natural 
speech  for  him  than  French. 

But  the  great  buildings  of  Bari  be- 
long to  that  mixed  Norman  and  Italian 
style  of  which  we  have  already  seen 
something  at  Bitonto.  The  architect- 
ural attractions  of  the  city  are  chiefly 
to  be  found  in  two  great  churches  and 
one  smaller  one.  The  castle,  standing 
by  the  sea,  should  have  its  landward 
side  walked  round,  and  the  walk  will 
reveal  much  of  picturesque  outline  and 
a  little  of  good  detail.     But  it  is  the 


:JSaru  299 

churches,  above  all  the  great  abbey 
of  St.  Nicolas,  which  are  the  glory  of 
Bari.  They  all  lie  in  the  old  town  by 
the  sea,  the  old  town  of  narrow  and 
crooked  streets,  in  which  it  does  not 
much  matter  which  way  you  go  ;  you 
are  sure  to  come  either  to  the  castle 
or  to  one  of  the  churches  before  very 
long.  Very  different  are  things  in  the 
new  town,  which  we  may  rejoice  in  as 
we  look  at  it  as  a  sign  of  Bari's  abid- 
ing or  renewed  prosperity,  but  which 
can  raise  no  feelings  of  pleasure  on 
any  other  ground.  Its  streets,  crossing 
each  other  at  right  angles,  are  indeed 
carefully  dedicated  to  the  worthies  of 
Bari  ;  but,  unless  we  can  always  re- 
member which  of  several  perhaps  not 
very  familiar  worthies  watches  over 
each  of  several  angles  which  are  ex- 
actly alike,  it  is  easy  to  take  a  wrong 
turn  and  to  put  oneself  under  the  care 
of  Andrew  of  Bari  when  we  ought 
rather  to  be  commending  ourselves  to 


300  Iftali?. 

Robert.  And  under  either  protection 
we  yearn  in  the  wide  straight  streets 
for  some  physical  shelter  from  the 
Apulian  sun,  and  wonder  why  modem 
Rome,  modern  Athens,  and  modern 
Bari  should  have  so  much  less  common 
sense  than  Bologna,  Padua,  and  Corfu 
had  in  days  long  past.  Still,  amid  this 
rectangular  labyrinth  the  sea  is  a  help 
on  one  side,  while  on  another  the  tall 
tower  of  the  metropolitan  church  of 
St.  Sabinus  beckons  us  into  the  older 
streets,  whose  narrowness  and  crook- 
edness at  least  supply  shade.  That 
tower,  one  of  the  tallest  and  stateliest 
of  Italy,  we  naturally  assume  to  be  a 
detached  campanile,  without  a  fellow 
and  standing  apart  from  its  confeder- 
ate buildings,  church  and  baptistery. 
So  it  doubtless  would  be  in  a  purely 
Italian  city  ;  but  here  we  are  in  the 
city  where  the  Norman  displaced  the 
Greek.  The  two  great  churches  of 
Bari,  like  that  of  Bitonto,  have  their 


MavU  301 

towers  wrought  into  the  building  in 
Norman  fashion,  and  at  the  duomo  the 
great  round  baptistery  is  also  merged 
in  the  same  mass  with  the  church  and 
its  towers.  Both  of  the  great  churches 
of  Bari  have  east  ends  of  the  same 
kind  as  that  at  Bitonto  ;  the  apses  are 
swallowed  up;  the  place  where  the 
great  apse  should  be  is  marked  by  a 
single  splendid  Romanesque  window. 
The  eastern  towers  of  St.  Nicolas  have 
never  been  carried  up  ;  at  St.  Sabinus 
the  southern  one  has  perished,  but  the 
northern  one  still  soars  in  all  its 
majesty,  thoroughly  Italian  in  its  con- 
ception, but  rather  to  be  called  Nor- 
man in  its  detail.  St.  Nicolas  has  also 
another  pair  of  unfinished  towers  at  its 
west  end,  standing  at  once  beyond  the 
aisles  as  at  Wells  and  Rouen,  and  in 
front  of  them  as  at  Holyrood.  They 
flank  a  grand  Italian  front  which  one 
would  think  would  be  finer  without 
them.     These  western  towers  are  ab- 


302  Utali^, 

sent  in  the  metropolitan  church  ;  but 
that  has  a  most  perfect  octagonal 
cupola  over  the  crossing,  the  grouping 
of  which  with  the  two  lofty  eastern 
towers,  if  there  was  any  point  from 
which  it  could  really  be  seen,  must 
have  been  wonderful.  Thus,  in  both 
churches,  something  of  a  German  out- 
line has  either  been  consciously 
brought  in  or  has  been  incidentally 
stumbled  on.  The  four  towers  of  St. 
Nicolas,  the  octagon  and  eastern  tower 
of  St.  Sabinus,  will  easily  find  Rhenish 
fellows,  though  w^e  should  perhaps 
have  to  go  as  far  as  Angouleme  for  a 
single  tower  of  equal  majesty  mourn- 
ing over  a  vanished  brother.  In  other 
points  the  external  arrangements  of 
the  two  great  churches  of  Bari  have 
much  in  common.  The  rose  windows, 
the  coupled  windows,  the  blank  ar- 
cades, are  much  the  same  in  both.  So 
is  the  choice  of  animal  forms  for  the 
fanciful  supports  of  columns.    In  most 


:fl5arf.  303 

places  the  lion  discharges  that  function 
— in  a  building  designed  by  lions  we 
should  doubtless  see  something  differ- 
ent. So  we  do  here  at  Bari,  where  the 
solid  forms  of  the  pachydermata  are, 
perhaps  discreetly,  preferred  to  the 
lighter  carnivora.  The  elephant,  we 
think,  is  to  be  found  in  both  churches, 
and  the  huge  earth-shaking  beast  is 
represented  so  as  to  remind  us  both  of 
Pyrrhos  and  of  Hannibal ;  some  have 
the  smaller  ear  of  India,  some  the 
larger  of  Africa.  The  hippopotamus 
appears  only  in  the  west  front  of  St. 
Nicolas.  Had  the  daring  shipfolk 
who  bore  away  the  saint's  bones  from 
lyykia  made  their  way  to  the  Nile 
also? 

When  we  pass  the  threshold  of  the 
two  buildings  we  see  that  their  fate  in 
modern  times  has  been  very  different. 
St.  Sabinus  has  suffered  much  as 
Bitonto  has  suffered.  The  upper  part 
of  the  building  is  hidden  in  just  the 


304  1Ftal^, 

same  fashion,  and  ugly  tricks  have 
been  played  with  the  columns  and  their 
capitals.  '  St.  Nicolas,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  been  left  comparatively 
alone.  The  chief  changes  which  it 
has  undergone  must  have  taken  place 
not  very  long  after  the  original  build- 
ing. The  original  plan  was  much  the 
same  as  that  of  Bitonto — three  arches 
from  columns,  a  massive  pier,  then 
three  more  arches  from  columns.  But 
this  arrangement  was  disturbed  at  an 
early  time  by  throwing  three  span- 
ning arches  across  the  nave.  The 
effect  is  so  striking  that  we  can  hardly 
regret  their  presence ;  but  it  is  per- 
fectly easy  to  see  that  they  are  inser- 
tions, and,  though  they  are  essentially 
of  the  same  style,  yet  they  differ  in 
their  details  from  the  original  columns. 
These  last  all  approach  more  or  less 
to  the  Corinthian  type  ;  in  the  under- 
church  the  patterns  are  more  varied. 
Here    are    still    the    wonder-working 


Sart  305 

relics  of  St.  Nicolas,  and  the  balsam 
or  *  *  manna ' '  which  flows  from  them 
may  still  be  drunk.  In  the  duomo  the 
under-church  has  been  restored  out  of 
all  ancient  character,  but  it  still  keeps 
an  ancient  Byzantine  picture. 

As  so  often  happens,  the  secondary 
church  of  Bari  altogether  surpassed 
the  mother  church  in  historic  fame  and 
local  honour.  To  ourselves  the  fact  in 
its  history  which  comes  home  most 
nearly  is  that  it  was  here  that  Urban 
held  his  Council,  here  that  Anselm,  to 
the  satisfaction  of  all  Western  minds, 
refuted  the  creed  of  the  East,  here  that 
he  interceded  with  the  Pontiff  and  the 
assembled  fathers  on  behalf  of  the  king 
who  had  wronged  him.  Here  too  it 
was  that  the  keen  eye  of  English 
Eadmer  spied  out  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Beneventum  the 
splendid  cope  which  is  no  longer  to 
be  seen  at  Beneventum.  Such  little 
touches  in  those  days  often  brought 

VOL.  II. — 20 


3o6   .  IFtal^* 

the  ends  of  the  world  together  in  a 
way  to  which,  in  our  days  of  more 
general  intercourse,  nothing  answers. 
When  French  was  the  polite  language 
alike  at  Dunfermline  and  at  Jerusalem, 
when  the  I^atin-speaking  clerk  was  at 
home  in  any  corner  of  the  West,  when 
the  few  men  of  the  West  who  had 
learned  Greek  spoke  it  so  that  a  Greek 
could  understand  them,  when  men 
passed  to  and  fro  between  the  civil 
services  of  England  and  Sicily,  com- 
munication between  distant  parts  of 
Europe  was  in  some  ways  easier  than 
it  is  now.  Bari,  one  of  the  chief 
places  for  setting  out  on  crusades, 
must  for  a  long  time  have  been  a 
thoroughly  cosmopolitan  city.  We  do 
feel  that  the  ends  of  the  earth  have 
combined  to  meet  at  Bari,  when  we 
find  the  place  of  honour  in  the  church 
of  St.  Nicolas  at  Bari  held  by  a  prin- 
cess of  Bari,  who  became  Queen  of  the 
greatest  Slavonic  kingdom.     Emblem- 


:fi5ari»  307 

atic  figures  of  Bari  and  Poland  support 
the  tomb  of  Queen  Bona,  and  her 
epitaph  describes  her  husband  Sigis- 
mund,  the  first  of  that  name,  as  not 
only  the  mighty  King  of  Poland,  but 
Grand-Duke  of  Lithuania,  Russia, 
Prussia,  Mazovia,  and  Samogitia.  Yet 
we  might  have  lighted  on  Slavonic  as- 
sociations earlier  on  the  road.  There 
is  a  strange  record  of  a  Bulgarian 
settlement  in  the  parts  of  Beneventum  ; 
but  that  would  take  us  yet  further 
afield  :  it  was  before  Bulgarians  be- 
came Slavonic.  But  what  are  we  to 
say  to  the  Samnite  Schiavia  which 
sheltered  Anselm  ? 

The  journey  is  done — 

*'  Brundisium  longse  finis  cartaeque  viseque." 

Otrantolies  yet  further  ;  but  Otranto, 
yet  more  notably  than  Bari,  comes 
within  the  Venetian  Notitia.  So  does 
Brundisium,  city  of  the  stag's  horn, 
of  the  haven  so  aptly   called,    if  we 


3o8  1Ftal^. 

only  knew  in  what  tongue  it  is  that 
Brentesium  has  that  meaning.  But 
we  are  tempted  to  regret  that  Brindisi 
and  not  Otranto  is  the  point  for  which 
Hadria  has  to  be  crossed.  Brindisi 
has  no  moral  claim.  We  cannot  look 
thence,  as  we  can  from  Otranto,  upon 
the  mountains  of  still  enslaved  Epeiros  ; 
no  one  is  tempted  even  to  dream  that ' 
he  looks  on  free  Corfu  or  on  the  lesser 
satellite  that  stands  in  front  as  its 
outpost. 


INDEX. 


Alatrt,  its  alliance  with  Rome,  206  ;  its  special  inter- 
est to  be  found  in  its  primaeval  remains,  207 ; 
not  named  in  the  Itineraries,  ib.  ;  its  walls,  209, 
212  et  seq. ;  position  of  the  arx,  210,  213  ;  its 
cathedral  church  on  the  site  of  the  primaeval 
temple,  211,  212,  219  ;  gateway  of  the  ar^c,  215  ; 
contrasted  with  Myk^n^,  216  ;  mediaeval  remains 
at,  298  ;  church  of  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore  at,  ib.  ; 
its  domestic  architecture,  ib. 

Alba,  its  destruction,  no,  112,  120  ;  use  of  the  name, 
ib.  ;  Roman  villas  at,  in,  112  ;  analogy  of  its  rela- 
tion to  Albano  with  that  of  Spalato  and  Salona, 
112.    See  Albano. 

Alban  Lake,  the,  no,  114,  119,  165 

Alban  Mount,  the,  no,  119,  165  ;  remains  of  temple 
of  Jupiter  I^atiaris  on,  in,  122,  142 

Albania,  use  of  the  name,  108,  109 

Albano  (Alba),  imperial  dwelling-place,  112;  its  rela- 
tion to  Alba  contrasted  with  that  of  Spalato  and 
Salona,  ib.  ;  tomb  of  Pompeius  at,  113  ;  so-called 
tomb  of  Aruns  at,  ib. 

'AKfiavoL,  use  of  the  name,  109,  no,  222 

Albanum.    See  Albano. 

Alexander  III.,  Pope,  consecrated  at  Ninfa,  147 

Ana^ni  {Anagnia),  its  position  beyond  Rome,  167; 
the  city  of  Boniface  VIII.,  168  ;  the  halting-place 

309 


3IO  ITnDex. 


of  Pyrrhos  and  Hannibal,  169 ;  head  of  the  Her- 
nican  confederation,  ib.,  172 ;  joins  the  Triple 
I^eagiie,  172  ;  physical  position  of,  173  ;  its  ancient 
walls,  ib.  ;  how  they  differ  from  those  at  Cori  and 
Seg^i,  174,  175,  179 ;  Hernican  Anagnia  not  in 
Macaulay's  catalogues,  174  ;  variety  of  construc- 
tion in  its  walls,  175-177;  question  as  to  their 
earliest  date,  177-180  ;  decline  of  its  power,  179  ; 
separate  wall  of  the  arx,  180  ;  special  character 
of  derived  from  its  walls,  ib.,  181  ;  historically 
famous  for  its  mediaeval  Popes,  181 ;  rich  mediae- 
val remains  in,  ib.,  182  ;  compared  with  Avignon, 
181  ;  cathedral  church  at,  183 ;  the  Locanda 
cf  Italia  no  longer  exists  at,  219 

Ancona,  triumphal  arch  of  Trajan  at,  268 

Anselm,  at  Telesia,  256  ;  defends  the  Filioque  at  the 
Council  of  Bari,  305  ;  sheltered  at  Schiavia,  307 

AntemncB,  lack  of  remains  at,  88,  94-96  ;  its  legendary 
story,  92  ;  derivation  of  its  name,  93 

Antivart,  Kastern  Bari,  280,  295 

Anxur  (Terracina),  120,  121,  128 

Appian  Way,  the,  its  namesake  at  Perugia,  28 ;  re- 
mains of,  115  ;  arch  of  Trajan  at  Beneventum 
commemorates  the  repair  of,  269 

Apulia,  plain  of,  251,  282 ;  mixture  of  architectural 
styles  in,  293,  294 

Aquileia,  its  special  position  in  history,  239,  240 

Arch,  the,  early  striving  after,  at  Norba,  145  ;  at 
Signia,  160-162  ;  its  principle  known  at  Anagni, 
I75>  i79j  180 ;  the  true  form  not  found  at 
Alatri,  215 ;  the  pointed  arch  in  Southern  Italy, 
Sicily,  and  Aquitaine  Romanesque,  not  Gothic, 
243 

Arches,  triumphal,  their  purely  monumental  char- 
acter, 268,  269 


1[n&cj.  3" 


Arco  Gotico,  at  Tusculutn,  origin  of  the  name,  i6i, 
162 

ArezzOy  its  historical  and  physical  position,  1-7,  13; 
its  Medicean  walls,  4,  5  ;  lack  of  domestic  archi- 
tecture in,  8;  the  Duomo  and  church  of  Sta. 
Maria  della  Pieve,  6,  7,  9-11 

Aricia,  old  and  new,  114,  115,  126,  165 

Aries,  Roman  theatre  at,  compared  with  that  at 
Ostia,  103 

Assist,  prse-Franciscan,  its  analogy  with  prse-aca- 
demic  Oxford,  48  ;  the  birth-place  of  Propertius 
and  Metastasio,  48,  49  ;  Roman  and  mediaeval  re- 
mains in,  49,  52-57  ;  its  physical  position,  50-52  ; 
so-called  temple  of  Minerva  at,  52-54  ;  its  dedica- 
tion to  Castor  and  Pollux,  tb. ;  Roman  inscrip- 
tions, 54 

Athens,  her  sea-port  of  later  origin  than  Ostia,  99 

Aurelius,  Marcus,  Kmperor,  at  Anagnia,  178 

A  versa,  Norman  county  of,  241 

Avignon,  its  papal  buildings  compared  with  those 
of  Anagni,  181 

B 

Bari,  Western,  as  opposed  to  Antivari,  279,  280,  295 ; 
under  Mussulman  rule,  296 ;  won  back  by  both 
Empires  in  871,  ib. ;  under  the  EJastem  EJmpire, 
ib. ;  protected  by  Venice,  297  ;  Norman  conquest 
of,  ib.  ;  council  at,  held  by  Pope  Urban,  ib.,  305; 
Greek  character  of,  298 ;  mixed  Norman  and 
Italian  style  of  architecture  in,  ib.  ;  Abbey  of  St. 
Nicolas  and  cathedral  church  of  St.  Sabinus  at, 
299-305 ;  its  cosmopolitan  character,  306  ;  tomb 
of  Bona,  Queen  of  Poland,  in  church  of  St. 
Nicolas,  306,  307 

Barletta,  285,  287 


312  IfnDcj* 


Basilicas,  238-241 

Belisarius,  at  Beneventum,  273 

Beneventum  (Benevento),  the  battle-ground  of  Pyr- 
rhos  and  Manfred,  262,  272,  278 ;  its  position  in 
history,  264  et.  seq.  ;  principality  of,  ib.  ;  lyom- 
bardy  duchy  of,  266  ;  papal  possession  of,  ib.  ;  its 
change  of  name,  ib.,  267  ;  described  by  Procopius, 
ib.,  279 ;  arch  of  Trajan  at,  268,  271,  272  ;  among 
the  Thirty  Cities,  273  ;  Belisarius  at,  ib. ;  taken 
by  Totilas,  ib.  ;  monumental  records  preserved 
in  its  metropolitan  church,  ib.,  274;  overthrown 
by  Frederick  the  Second,  274,  275 ;  Canterbury 
cope  worn  by  archbishop  of,  276,  305  ;  the  castle, 
277  ;  Quaranta  Santi,  278 

Bitonto,  mixture  of  Norman  and  Italian  elements  in 
its  cathedral  church,  288-294 

Bona,  wife  of  Sigismund,  King  of  Poland,  her  tomb 
at  Bari,  306,  307 

Boniface  VIII.,  Pope,  his  end  at  Anagni,  164,  168  ; 
his  vestments  kept  at  Anagni,  183 

Brundisium  (Brindisi),  285  ;  final  point  in  the  journey 
of  Horace  and  Maecenas,  307  ;  whence  the  mean- 
ing oi Brentesium.  ?  ib.,  308 

Bunbury,  Sir  P).  H.,  on  Anagnia,  177 


Calor  (Calore),  tributary  stream  of  Vultumus,  256, 
264 

Campo  di  Annibale ,  119,  122 

Capua  (Vulturnum),  old  and  new,  226,  227,  240 ; 
amphitheatre,  227-229  ;  contrasted  with  the  Ro- 
man coliseum,  228,  229  ;  date  of  the  ancient  city, 
230 ;  its  Roman  citizenship,  231 ;  fts  revolt,  232 ; 
Roman  conquest  of,  ib.,  242 ;  taken  by  the  Sara- 
cens, ib. 


IFnDej.  313 


Caserta,  226,  227 

Casilinum,  new  Capua,  ancient  Capua  moved  to, 
226,  232,  241  ;  Norman  principality  of,  241,  242 

Cassius,  Spurius,  wins  over  Anagnia  to  the  Triple 
I<eag^e,  170,  172 

Castel  Gandolfo,  118,  119 

Castel  Giubeleo,  77,  83.    See  Fidencs. 

Castiglione  Fiorentino,  13 

Chiana,  tributary  of  the  Arno,  3  ;  valley  of  the, 
local  tradition  assigned  to  its  fossil  elephants, 
8,9 

Circeii  (Monte  Circello),  120,  128,  143 

Colline  Gate,  the,  its  historical  associations,  79-81  ; 
259,  261 

Constantine  PorphyrogenHos,  his  description  of  the 
Sultan  of  Bari,  296 

Cora  (Cori),  its  primaeval  walls,  129,  132,  166,  174 ; 
later  walls,  131 ;  temple  of  Hercules,  132,  133,  166 ; 
supplanted  by  church  of  St.  Peter,  132,  134,  135  ; 
church  of  St.  Oliva  at,  135 ;  its  physical  position 
contrasted  with  Norba,  140,  141 

Corinth,  later  stage  of  her  havens,  98  ;  her  colonies, 
ib.,  99 

Cortona,  its  physical  position  compared  with  that 
of  Argos  and  Corinth,  13,  14 ;  compared  with 
Perugia,  I^aon,  and  Girgenti,  ib.  ;  owes  its  dis- 
tinctive character  to  its  walls,  15,  16,  19-21  ;  its 
early  greatness,  15  ;  its  decline,  16 ;  ecclesiastical 
and  municipal  buildings  in,  17-19 ;  Myk^naian 
character  of  its  Etruscan  gate,  20  ;  the  Etruscan 
Muse,  21,  22 ;  contrasted  with  Perugia,  23-28 

Cosmo  de'  Medici,  Duke  of  Florence  and  Siena,  his 
inscription  at  Arezzo,  6  ;  his  later  title,  ib. 

Creighton,  M.  (present  Bishop  of  Peterborough), 
quoted,  123 


3M  ITnDe?^. 


Documents,  official,  errors  in,  200,  201 


Eadmer,  at  Bari,  305 

Emissarius,  the,  of  the  Alban  I,ake,  117  ;  contrasted 
with  that  of  the  Fucine  I^ake,  ib. 

Etruscans,  their  cities  remain  free  until  the  days  of 
Sulla,  20  ;  their  analogy  with  Freemasons,  34,  35 ; 
their  tongue  remains  a  riddle,  36  ;  their  sculpture 
derives  more  force  from  the  absence  of  literature, 
37-40  ;  analogy  of  Etruscan  and  Roman  change 
of  nomenclature  with  English  and  Norman,  43, 
44 ;  Christian  and  modern  character  of  their 
sculpture,  44,  45 


Felimna,  Avle,  Etruscan  tomb  of,  42,  43,  197 

Ferentinum  (Ferentino),  whether  a  Thirty-city,  186, 
187, 188  ;  its  position,  188  ;  its  walls  and  gateways, 
189-192,  202  ;  monument  of  Aulus  Quinctilius  at, 
193  ;  question  as  to  the  date  of  its  walls,  194  et  seq. ; 
inscriptions  on  the  arx,  195, 197  ;  alliance  of  with 
Rome,  198,  199,  205,  206  ;  wrongly  called  a  muni- 
cipium  by  Aulus  Gellius,  200,  201  ;  cathedral 
church  at,  202,  205  ;  inner  buildings  of  the  arx, 
204  ;  church  of  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore,  ih. 

FidencB,  the  ally  of  Veii,  78  ;  destroyed  by  Rome,  ib., 
85  ;  position  oi'xt^arx,  83,  84  ;  desolation  of,  85,  87 

Foggia,  the  capital  of  Apulia,  282  ;  palace  of  Frederick 
//.,  at,  283 ;  death  of  Empress  Isabel  at,  ib.  ; 
church  at,  ib. 

Frederick  II.,  Emperor,  destroys  Benevento,  274,  275 ; 
remains  of  his  palace  at  Foggia,  283 


IfnDej.  315 


Freemasons,  modem,    their    analogy    with    ancient 

Etruscans,  34,  35 
Frosinone  (Frusino),  208 

G 

Gavignano,  155,  163,  172 

Gellius,  Aulus,  his  story  about  Ferentinum,  199 

Girgenti,  compared  with  Cortona,  14 

Gracchus,  Gaius,  his  speech  quoted  by  Aulus  Gellius, 

199 
Gracchus,  Tiberius,  his  reception  at  Beneventum, 

272,  273 
Gregoriopolis ,  105 
Gsell-fels,  guidebook  of,  referred  to,  59,  152,  167,  283 

H 

Hannibal,  son  of  Hamilkar  Barak,  at  Anagnia,  169, 
179  ;  at  Capua,  226,  236  ;  revolt  of  the  city  to,  from 
Rome,  232,  234;  his  camp  at  Tifata,  233,  234; 
scanty  records  concerning,  235 

Harpur,  Sir  William,  Aulus  Quinctilius  compared  to, 
192 

Hernicans,  the,  scanty  records  concerning,  170,  255  ; 
importance  of  their  geographical  position,  170, 
171,  172 

Hirtius,  Aulus,  censor  of  Ferentinum,  197,  199,  202 


Innocent  III.,  Pope,  his  birthplace,  whether  at  Segni 

or  Gavigfnano,  163  ;  his  vestments  kept  at  Ana- 

gni,  183 
Isabel,  wife  of  Frederick  II.,  dies  at  Foggia,  283 
Italy,  Southern,  a  part  of  Hellas,  224,  225  ;  use  of  the 

pointed  arch  in,  243 ;  interest  maintained  in  its 

cities,  284 


3i6  Ifn^ex. 


Korkyra  (Corfu),  held  by  Pyrrhos  and  Manfred,  279  ; 
never  under  the  Turk,  ih.^  308 


Laon,  compared  with  Cortona,  14 

Lollius,  Marcus,  censor  of  Ferentinum,  197,  199,  202 

M 

Macaulay,  I^ord,  his  verses  on  the  Thirty  Cities,  151, 
152 ;  Signia  not  named  by,  ib.  ;  Anagnia  not  in 
his  catalogues,  174  ;  whether  Ferentinum  is 
rightly  placed  by,  187 ;  fittingness  of  his  epithet 
for  Ferentinum,  188 
Manfred^  King  of  Sicily,  253.  262,  272,  278,  279 
Marcellus,   Marcus    Claudius,   his    triumph    by   the 

Alban  Mount,  11 1,  166 
Marcius,  Ancus,  traditional  founder  of  Ostia,  97,  gii 
Maxim,  Volscian  or  Hernican ,  on  beggars,  220 
Member  of  Parliament,  misuse  of  the  name,  201 
Milvian  Bridge,  the,  its  historical  associations,  89 
Monte  Cavo,  see  Alban  Mount. 
Monte  Parioli,  91 
Muse,  the,  of  Cortona,  21,  22 

N 

Nemi,  I^ake  of,  114-116,  234,  235 

Ninfa,  126,  140,  142,  146 ;  its  striking  desolation,  146- 

150,  166  ;  its  mediaeval  wall,  147 
Norba,  its  ancient  wall,  137  et  seg.,  147,  149,  166;  its 

position  contrasted  with  Cora,   140,   141 ;    early 

strivings  after  the  arch  at,  145 
Norma,  140-142 


IFnDej.  317 


opus  Signinum,  theory  suggested  as  to  its  origin,  152 

Ostia,  the  haven  of  Rome,  96, 97, 99,  121 ;  its  traditional 
foundation,  98  :  an  integral  part  of  Rome,  99,  100 ; 
its  remains  endangered  by  the  Tiber,  100,  loi,  106, 
107;  contrasted  with  Pompeii,  loi,  102;  not 
destroyed  by  the  Saracens  in  the  fifth  century, 
102  ;  Roman  remains  in,  103  ;  how  described  by 
Procopius,  ib. ;  its  early  walls,  104 ;  new  Ostia, 
105 

Otranto,  the  entrance -place  of  the  Turk  into  Western 
E)urope,  223  ;  view  of  enslaved  Kpeiros  from,  307 

Oxford^  prse- academic,  its  importance,  47  ;  its  analogy 
with  prae-Franciscan  Assisi,  48 


Parthenbn,  the,  its  continuance  as  such,  237 
Perugia,  contrasted  with  Cortona,  23-28 ;  its  historical  • 
position,  23-25  ;  physical  position,  26 ;  walls  of, 
ib.,  28;  Roman  gateways  at,   28-31      barbarous 
treatment  of  mediaeval  houses  in,  31 ;  the  interest 
of  its  churches  not  only  due  to  their  paintings, 

31-33 
Pius  IX.,   Pope,  his  viaduct  between  Albano  and 

Aricia,  114 
Pompeii,  contrasted  with  Ostia,  loi,  102 
Pompeius  Magnus,   Cnaeus,  his   villa    and  tomb  at 

Alba,  III,  113 
Pomptine  Marshes,  the,  128 
Ponte  Sodo,  the,  at  Veii,  74 
Pontius,  Gains,  spares  the  Roman  army  in  the  second 

Samnite  War,  257,  262 ;  whether  the  Pontius  of 

the  triumph  of  Quintus  Fabius,  258,  259 


3i8  1[nC)ej» 


Porta  Saracenesca,  at  Segni,  157,  159  ;  shows  the  arch 

in  its  constructive  form,    160-161  ;  origin  of  its 

name  uncertain,  161,  162 
Portus,  harbour  of  Rome  transferred  to,  from  Ostia, 

102 
Procopius,  his  description  of  Ostia,  103  ;  of  Beneven- 

tum,  267,  279 
Puff-stone  of  Gloucestershire,  its  likeness  to  the  stone 

of  Anagnia's  walls,  176 
PyrrhoSf  King  of  Kpeiros,  169,  179,  262,  272,  278,  279 


Quinctilius,  Aulus,  his  foundation  of  nuts  to  Feren- 
tinum,  192  ;  his  monument,  193 


Robert,  son  of  Godwin,  his  analogy  to  Publius 
Volumnius,  son  of  Felimna,  44 

Robert  Wiscard,  takes  Bari,  297 

Rocca  di  Papa,  119 

Roman,  use  of  the  word,  194,  197,  202 

Roman  Empire,  the,  important  era  marked  by  Tra- 
jan's reign,  270,  271 

Rome,  how  her  local  history  should  be  studied,  67; 
rivalry  of  Veii  with,  69-72  ;  her  conquest  of  Veii, 
68,  75,  76 ;  her  origin,  70,  72, 143  ;  Fidenae  destroyed 
t>y,  78,  85  ;  taken  by  Alaric,  80 ;  her  incorporation 
of  Antemnae  with,  92  ;  her  haven  of  Ostia,  96,  97, 
99 ;  contrasted  with  Corinth  and  Athens,  98,  99 ; 
her  harbour  removed  from  Ostia  to  Portus,  102 ; 
Alba  lyonga  destroyed  by,  no,  120;  her  physical 
and  historical  position,  119-122  ;  alliance  of  Fer- 
entinum  with,  198,  199,  205  ;  her  arbitrary  dealing 
with  her  Italian  allies,   199,  200 ;  her  wars  with 


IfnDej.  319 


the  Samnites,   251,    252 ;    her    army    spared  by 
Gaius  Pontius,  257  ;  final  struggle  of  the  Samnites 
against,  259-261 
Po/xatot,  use  of  the  name,  109,  no 


S 


Saint  Ambrose,  cathedral  church  of  Ferentino  dedi- 
cated to,  204 

Saint  Angela  in  Formis,  basilica  of,  near  Capua,  238, 
240  et  seg.  ;  frescoes  at  247-249 

Saint  Apollinaris  in  Classe,  basilica  of,  240 

Saint  Francis  o/Assisi,  48,  49 

Saint  Nicolas  of  Myra  in  I^ykia,  patron  saint  of  Bari, 
297,  298 

Saint  Peter  in  Grado,  basilica  of,  near  Pisa,  238,  239, 
240 ;  contrasted  with  Saint  Angelo  in  Formis, 
239  ;  frescoes  at,  247 

Salarian  Gate,  the,  its  historical  associations,  79-81 

Salona,  its  relation  to  Spalato  contrasted  with  that 
of  Alba  to  Albano,  112 

Samentum,  meaning  of  the  word,  178 

Samnites,  the,  248,  251,  254,  259-262 

Schiavia,  Samnite,  Anselm  at,  307 

Segni  (Signia),  whether  a  Thirty-city?  151-154;  its 
physical  position  analogous  with  that  of  Norba, 
155 ;  the  arx  of  Signia  forms  the  modem  Passe- 
giata,  156 ;  fragments  of  mediaeval  work  in,  157 ; 
ancient  walls  and  gateways  of,  ib.,etseq.,  172,  174 ; 
Roman  remains  on  the  arx,  162,  163 ;  whether 
the  birthplace  of  Innocent  III.,  163  ;  locandcB  at, 
recommended  by  Gsell-fels,  167 

Sicily,  use  of  the  pointed  arch  in,  243 ;  the  architect- 
ural characteristics  of  Norman  rule  in  Apulia 
not  found  in,  293 


320  IfnOej 


Signia.     See  Segni. 

Social  War,  the,  its  significance,  261 

Spalato,  its  relation  to  Salona  contrasted  with  that 

of  Albano  to  Alba,  112 
Spello  (Hispellum),  its  local  description,  58  ;  its  walls 

and     towers,    60 ;    Romanesque    churches    and 

Roman    remains    at,    61-63 ;    Roman    gateways, 

63,  64 
Stewart,  Henry,  Cardinal  of  York,  temple  of  Jupiter 

I^atiaris  destroyed  by,  iii,  166 
Strabo,  his  description  of  Fidenae,  85  ;  on  Ostia,  102 
Sulla,  restores  Cora,  133  ;  Norba  destroyed  by,  139 


Talleyrand,  Bishop  of  Autun  and  Prince  of  Bene- 

vento,  265 
Tarlati,  Guy,  Bishop  and  lyOrd  of  Arezzo,  his  tomb, 

7,8 
Telesia  (Telese),  the  home  of  Gains  Pontius,  256,  257, 

262 ;  Anselm  at,  ib. 
Terracina.    See  Anxur. 
Thiseton,  re-dedicated  to  Saint  George,  237 
Tiber,   the,    its   early    importance   as    a   boundary 

stream,  90  ;  its  destructiveness,  100-103, 106,  107 
Tifata,  Hannibal  at,  233,  234  ;  meaning  of  the  name, 

234  ;  whether  the  scene  of  Semitic  worship,  236 ; 

worship  of  Diana  and  Jupiter  at,  237  ;  church  of 

Sant'  Angelo  in  Forrais  at,  233,  238,  240  et  seq. 
Topography,  historical,  variety  of  interest  offered  by, 

86 
Totilas,  Beneventum  taken  by,  273 
Traja7i,  his  arch  at  Rome  survives  in  the  arch  of 

Constantine,    267,    268 ;   his  arch  at  Benevento, 

268-273 ;    important  era  of  the  Roman  Kmpire 

marked  by  his  reign,  270,  271 


•ffnDej.  321 

Trani,  special  interest  of  its  metropolitan  church, 
286,  287,  290,  291 ;  church  of  All  Saints  at,  287 

U 
Urban  II.,  Pope,  council  at  Bari  held  by,  297,  305 


Veil,  its  site  and  desolation,  68,  69,  72-75,  87  ;  con- 
quered by  Rome,  ib.,  75  ;  rivalry  of  with  Rome, 
69-72  ;  Etruscan  tombs  at,  74,  75 

Velletri  (Velitrse),  126-129,  166,  167 

Venice,  vassal  of  the  Eastern  Empire,  protects  Bari 
against  the  Saracen,  297 

VeroHy  210 

Volumnian  Tomb,  the,  40  et  seq. 

Volumnius  Avle  Felimna,  Publius,  his  analogy  to 
Robert,  son  of  Godwin,  44,  197, 

W 

Willis,  Professor,  his  use  of  the  phrase  mid-wall 
shaft,  245 

VOL.  II. — 21 


UHIVBBBII!!  i 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  PINE  OP  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


'WA'?    8     193S 


24iul5ilU 


250ct'5"Vl 


